


The Mother of Invention

by cordeliadelayne



Series: The Nightingale's First Apprentice [4]
Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Drama, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Injured Character, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Peter wants to be an apprentice, Talking, Teacher-Student Relationship, abigail is an apprentice, community liaision
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 01:33:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: When I entered the Folly on the day before it all went to hell it was to find a soaking wet Abigail being followed around by a dark rain cloud.





	The Mother of Invention

**Author's Note:**

> Set in The Nightingale's First Apprentice AU. All you really need to know is Abigail became Nightingale's apprentice first, Peter is stuck doing paperwork at the CPU and he and Nightingale are in a relationship.

When I entered the Folly on the day before it all went to hell it was to find a soaking wet Abigail being followed around by a dark rain cloud. 

“Someone's being productive,” I said. 

Abigail just glared at me. “He thinks he's funny,” she said, though I wasn't sure whether she was talking about me or Thomas. 

Thomas appeared then, holding a towel that he passed to Abigail who didn't say as much as a thank you. Not that I could blame her. I put my hand under the cloud and realised that the water was actually quite warm. 

“Do I want to know?” I asked. 

Thomas looked like he was seriously considering the question. “No, probably not,” he replied eventually. 

The cloud disappeared with a satisfying pop and Abigail started clomping up the stairs. Thomas looked like he was very much regretting whatever had just happened. 

“I trust we're done,” Abigail said, though it wasn't really a question and Thomas didn't answer her. Instead he looked at me for a good few seconds as if not really seeing me. 

“I'll be back in a moment,” he said, and then hurried up the stairs. I didn't fancy his chances of coming down again in one piece. 

Neither did Molly if her sudden appearance was anything to go by. She sighed at me and then headed upstairs. I decided I valued my limbs too much to follow, so headed down into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea and a biscuit. 

Half a mug of tea later first Molly and then Thomas joined me, Molly half-heartedly glaring at the teaspoon I'd left on the side of the sink and not washed up. 

“All sorted?” I asked. 

Thomas hummed slightly and ran his fingers through my hair as he passed on the way to get himself a mug. 

“I didn't think you were coming by today,” Thomas said. 

“Mark's girlfriend went into labour early, so I swapped shifts with him,” I explained. “I thought we could have a catch-up.”

Thomas was right to look suspicious but I'd been putting off this conversation for two months now, ever since I got the all clear to leave the hospital after Lesley May's attack, and get back to work. 

“Perhaps after dinner?” he suggested. 

“Perhaps now,” I replied. 

Molly, I noticed, had disappeared. 

“I know what you're going to say,” Thomas said. “And you know what the answer is going to be.”

“Then I'll quit the police.”

Thomas looked genuinely shocked, one of those expressions of his I hadn't seen until now. Normally I quite liked teasing them out of him, but this time I was steeling myself up for a monumental battle. 

“Peter, you -”

“If that's the only way you'll teach me...”

“Peter, you -” he started to interrupt again, but then looked completely lost for words. 

“I hate working at the CPU, you know that.”

“You're a good police officer, Peter. You don't have to resign yourself to the CPU forever. There are other options.” He sat down on the chair next to me. “You can't just...”

He cut himself off before he told me that I couldn't just give up on policing like I had on being an architect. We'd both had that conversation before. 

“Are you saying you don't think I should learn magic?” I asked. 

“There are other ways,” he said, not answering the question. “It's not as simple as me just taking on another apprentice. That isn't how this works. I'm not going to let you throw your career away.”

“You're not going to _let me?_ ”

“If you'd just let me do this in my own time,” he started to say, backtracking because he knew he'd said the wrong thing and thought just talking fast was going to get him out of it, but I stood up quickly and my chair fell to the floor, sounding louder than it had any right to. Molly appeared in the doorway but I ignored her as I started to walk out. 

It was a good thing I knew Thomas well enough to know he wouldn't be coming after me, as I nearly slipped on the wet pavement outside the Folly and him seeing me flailing for balance would have been the final straw. 

* * * * *

I found myself in a bar in Soho, dark red lighting making it hard to make out much except the tables and the soft lines of the people warring to get noticed by the one bartender staffing the place. One guy next to me tried to buy me a drink and cop a feel but I declined both and bought myself a gin that I nursed while trying to calm myself down. 

The problem was I wasn't really angry at Thomas, I was angry at myself. Angry about all the choices I'd made that had lead me to this point but most of all angry that I couldn't articulate how badly I wanted this without it threatening to ruin my relationship with Thomas. I was just starting to think that it might be better if I wrote the whole thing down in a letter, the old school method a way of getting Thomas' full attention, when I was interrupted again. 

“Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”

I gave the girl who sidled up to me a good London patented get lost glare and then turned back to my drink. I couldn't remember if it was my second or my third. Maybe my fourth.

She laughed. “You don't remember me, do you?”

I turned and gave her more than a cursory look. Pretty, black, young, with dreadlocks tied up behind her head in a bun, wearing tight jeans and a black t-shirt that said “You can't afford me” in glittery purple sequins. It was the t-shirt more than anything else that started the cogs whirring. 

“You've met my sister,” she said, licking her red lips. “Lady Ty.”

 _Shit._ “Yes, of course,” I said, trying to remember her name. Small river, I thought. But which one? 

“Beverley Brook,” she said, her hip touching mine. “Remember now?”

“Would you like a drink?” I asked, because it seemed like the polite thing to do with the daughter of the goddess of the River Thames who was also a goddess in her own right.

“Nope,” she said, then she started to pull me outside, the cool air going a long way to clearing my head. 

“Were you going to go off with him?” she asked me. I blinked, trying to remember who she was talking about. She leaned over, pressed herself close to me and pulled out a piece of paper from my jacket pocket; it had someone's phone number written on it. I hadn't realised the guy who'd tried to buy me a drink had done that and I sure as hell wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a line-up. 

“Oh, that,” I said. “No. I wasn't.” Because I might be two sheets to the wind but I'd never cheat on Thomas. 

Beverley looked like she was trying to decide how much of an idiot I was and then the next thing I knew she was tipping a bottle of cold water over my head. 

That was definitely one way of getting sober I'm not keen on ever repeating.

“What was that about?” I asked, uncomfortably aware of how see through my t-shirt was getting. 

Beverley looked disappointed in me, which was a first considering how little time I'd spent in her company prior to now. “I know it's not ideal, working with us, but you could at least give it a go. Molly said you'd stormed out like your arse was on fire and then I find you chatting up randoms.” 

I blinked. “I know it's not easy to...hang on, what?”

Beverley wiped her wet hands down on her jeans. “Do you two ever actually talk to each other, or is all just old man sex?” She scrunched up her face as she said this and I've never felt so insulted in my life. 

“Oi! That's the man I love you're talking about.” 

There was a pointed pause as I rewound what I'd just said. Beverley just shook her head. 

“Go back to the Folly, Peter. I'll be there tomorrow at 10. Make sure the Nightingale's expecting me.”

And with that she was off. And I was more confused than ever. 

* * * * * *

When I stumbled into the Folly I was doing a good drowned rat impression. I headed downstairs to the kitchen, working on the theory that it was better to get the route to there wet than it was to go up the carpeted stairs. Only Thomas was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a mug of what smelled like coffee and looked suitably startled to see me. 

“Peter? What on earth?”

“I can explain,” I said, and then stopped. 

Thomas stood up and fetched a towel from the cupboard before hesitatingly passing it to me. I just stared at it, then took it from him and started to wipe the water from my face. I didn't protest as Thomas moved me to sit in a chair and started taking off my shoes. 

“You'll get dirt all over yourself,” I said. 

“I'm sure Molly will appreciate having something to do,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “And besides, I like undressing you.”

“Even after I stormed out, before we could have the conversation I came here to have?”

Thomas rocked back on his heels and put his hands on my legs. “Peter, I know I don't always see the world the same way you do, but if I wanted someone to agree with me all the time I wouldn't have got involved with you in the first place, and I certainly wouldn't have taken on Abigail.”

I couldn't help but smile at that. “I guess I've let myself get so wound up by the situation I needed to blow a fuse and directed it all at the one person I knew I could. These last few weeks back at the CPU, I think they've slowly been driving me mad.”

“And I've been avoiding telling you what I've been planning when instead I should have been sharing my plans with you. I'm sorry. Forgive me?”

Thomas looked so genuinely worried that I wouldn't that I just leaned forward and kissed him. 

“So, the water?” Thomas asked, as we pulled apart. 

“Beverley Brook is frighteningly invested in our relationship.”

Thomas frowned but I cut him off with another kiss before he could say anything. “Your bath is big enough for two isn't it?”

Thomas stood up and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. “I think now is the perfect time to find out,” he said. “But we're not going to bed until we've had a proper conversation about all of this.”

I kissed him, because I could and because I needed to stop having all my conversations with Thomas in my head instead of actually out loud. “We will,” I promised. Then I pulled him upstairs before either of us decided that sex in the kitchen was something we needed to tick off our bucket lists. 

* * * * * 

After we'd thoroughly investigated the sex in the bath situation and I was dressed in what Abigail called my granddad pyjamas and one of Thomas' ridiculously comfy dressing gowns, we settled ourselves on the sofa in the study next to a roaring fire. It was probably a bit warm for it really, but it fit the mood we were both in, neither of us wanting to stop touching the other. 

“Beverley Brook?” Thomas asked, passing me a mug of tea Molly had left for us before disappearing off, presumably to go to bed. If she slept. I hadn't quite worked that one out yet. 

“Tipped a bottle of water over my head after some bloke put his number in my jacket pocket.”

Thomas just hummed and took a sip of tea. “That was nice of her,” he said after a moment. 

“You're not going to ask are you?” 

“I don't need to,” he said and I may have melted a little inside. Just a little, you understand, in a totally manly way. 

“I would _never_...” I started to say, because he might not need to ask, but I needed to say it. 

“ _Peter._ I trust you. More than I've trusted anyone in a very long time.”

Well, what can you say to that? Nothing, if like me you suddenly had a giant lump in your throat. Instead I just pressed myself even closer to him and sighed as he put his arm around me. 

“She's coming round tomorrow morning, Beverley,” I said.

“Ah. Yes. Things seem to be moving rather quicker than I'd anticipated.” He moved his hand absently along my leg. “The Commissioner seems dead set against me taking on an apprentice. Despite Cecelia's help in recent months her adamance against such a move in the beginning seems to have hardened his stance, even though she has told him that she is coming around to the idea.”

This was news to me. “She is?”

“I think she likes you.” He paused. “Or at least doesn't hate you as much as she does me.”

“She doesn't hate you,” I said, because I was 99% sure that was true. 

“I will defer to your judgement,” Thomas said, and I elbowed him gently in the stomach, making him laugh. 

“As you should,” I said and shivered delightfully as he kissed the back of my neck.

“Sooo, what's this meeting about then?”

“Well...” Thomas said and I bit my lower lip to stop myself prodding him along. “I realised very early on that you are much better at forming relationships with the demi-monde than I am. Abigail has told me it's because I come with too much baggage, which is hard to argue with. Even if it does make me sound like a valet.” 

I snorted; I wish I'd been there for that conversation. 

“Quite. So I approached Mama Thames through Lady Ty about a more formal liaison position. You would be – more of the public face of the Folly, an ambassador if you will. And naturally you would need to learn magic to take on such a role but you could keep your job in the police and I wouldn't be your line manager. And eventually, once Lady Ty and I have worn him down, you could transfer to the Folly. Or the murder team, if you'd rather.”

“The murder team?”

“Seawoll wasn't unenthusiastic about the idea.”

I didn't know what to say. That was far better than anything I could have hoped for. And yet.

“Why didn't you tell me about any of this?”

Thomas' silence was an uncomfortable one and I shifted around so I could look at him. He wouldn't look me in the eye. 

“I didn't want to get your hopes up,” he said, finally. 

It sounded fine and perfectly reasonable, but there was something else that was going on, I could feel it. 

“ _Thomas?”_

He looked at me then, then quickly away, before settling his gaze somewhere over my left shoulder. 

“I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“It took me so long to find an apprentice. So long to realise that I needed one. And then to find two remarkable people that could, that _wanted_ to become wizards...and then to see how badly it could all turn out.”

“I'm not Lesley,” I said. “Neither is Abigail.”

“I know that. I do,” he added, reaching for me and putting his hand on my arm. “But I like you Peter.” I raised an eyebrow and he smiled a little. “Even before – this – I liked you. I liked the way you were protecting Abigail, and how you made me question the way I'd been doing things for years, without making me feel like a total failure. I didn't mean to fall in love with you and I couldn't see how it could work if I was your teacher as well.”

If he'd noticed what he'd said he didn't let on, and neither did I.

“So that's all you're worried about?”

“I do realise how this looks, Peter. An older man, _a senior officer_ and a young, attractive PC. The last thing I want is for your career to be tarnished because of me.”

Just when you think your partner is living in the past he goes and surprises you. 

I turned and moved so I was sitting in his lap, kissing him quiet as he tried to say something, probably along the lines of no sex in the public areas, but he didn't put up more than a token protest before his hands were on me, shifting my pyjama bottoms down. I gasped into his mouth as he took me in hand then lifted myself up and pulled at his pyjamas, so I could touch him too. He bucked up into me and it wasn't long before we were getting ourselves very dirty indeed.

“Molly is going to kill us,” Thomas said and I laughed into his neck. “I shall of course put all the blame on you.”

“Naturally,” I agreed with a smile. I shifted back a little and looked at him, hair mussed up, face flushed and looking so damn happy I wanted to bottle the feeling and take it out and examine it later. 

“Bed?” he suggested, trailing a finger down my cheek. I nodded. It looked like we were going to have a busy day tomorrow. 

How little I knew then. 

* * * * * 

You can always judge Molly's mood by the state of the breakfast she gives you, so it was no surprise that Thomas and I found ourselves with lukewarm porridge and burnt coffee and Abigail with a full English. 

“What did you do?” Abigail asked, trying to surreptitiously text and eat at the same time. 

“Nothing,” I said. 

“No electronics at the table,” Thomas said. 

Abigail sighed and put her phone in her pocket. “You must have done _something_ to piss her off.”

“Language,” Thomas said. 

He was eating his porridge, because he was of the eat whatever is put in front of you with no complaints generation, whilst I was, in the words of my mother, “playing with my food”. 

“Hmm,” Abigail replied. She took a bite of sausage and then looked between me and Thomas. Throughout this Thomas had been keeping his head down and concentrating on his food; I realised why the second it was too late. “Oh, _ugh_ really? You're supposed to be adults.”

I could feel myself blushing, not a usual occurrence and noted with some satisfaction the slight pinking of Thomas' cheeks. The bastard still wasn't looking anywhere but at his breakfast though. 

Abigail took her last piece of toast, put the rest of her sausage and a bit of egg in it, rolled it around so it made a sort of hot dog and started to leave the table. 

“I'm going to school. Then I've swimming club. We're going for burgers after. I'll text you when I'm there. I won't be late for our lesson. Josh's mum's giving me a lift back.”

“Thank you,” Thomas said, chancing a quick look at her but she just shook her head like a disapproving parent and left. “This would probably have been a lot easier if I'd started with an adult apprentice,” he said. 

“But then you couldn't have had your wicked way with me in the library,” I pointed out, pleased at his surprised laugh. 

Molly loomed in the doorway and started clearing the breakfast things away, even going so far as to take the cup of coffee out of Thomas' hand before he'd finished drinking it. 

“A bunch of flowers is probably the least we're going to need to do,” he said as she left. “Possibly some more recipe books?”

“Two birds with one stone, I like it,” I replied. Though truth was since I'd become a regular fixture Molly had definitely upped her game in the cooking stakes. I think even she had got bored of serving up the same old stodgy food. 

Since Molly returned at that moment and started to practically clean us out of our seats we decided to make a strategic retreat to the magic library until Beverley arrived. Thomas was sorting out books for his next lesson with Abigail and I was absently browsing; we both kept our hands to ourselves. 

* * * * * 

The front door bell rang and Thomas nodded approvingly; Beverley was right on time. We heard Molly open the door and by the time we were downstairs they were in some sort of silent communication, their heads bent low together. They straightened up somewhat guiltily when we moved into the atrium and I had no doubt that Thomas and I were the subject of their conversation. 

“Miss Brook,” Thomas said in greeting. “Thank you for agreeing to this.”

“Mum says thank you for the necklace,” Beverley replied. This was news to me and I looked over at Thomas but he refused to catch my eye. 

“I'm glad she liked it. Did you have a chance to talk to Cecelia?”

Beverley nodded, though she looked nervous and kept shifting backwards and forwards like someone was walking over her grave. “She's meeting us there. Look, can we maybe do this outside?” She waved at the ceiling. “It's giving me the creeps.”

“Of course,” Thomas said. “My apologies.”

Beverley hurried out of the door and we followed. “We taking the Jag?” she asked eagerly. 

Thomas smiled; occasionally I've had the thought that he likes that car more than me, so he definitely likes anyone who appreciates it like he does. “You didn't come in your own car?” he asked. 

“I got a cab,” Beverley replied. “So?”

“The Jag it is then.”

Before we got much further Beverley grabbed me by the arm. “Well?”

“We're fine. Thanks.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied, and then we had a short tussle to see who would be sitting in the front passenger seat. 

Naturally I lost. 

* * * * * 

Mama Thames lived in a converted warehouse just short of the Haswell Basin the other side of the Prospect of Whitby pub. As well as being the site of one of my dad's many failures to progress his career in any meaningful way, at the rear are the hanging gibbets that were once used to hand out justice to local pirates. I tried not to take that as a sign. 

Thomas parked on one of the cobbled side streets and looked over at Beverley. I felt very much like a third wheel. 

“Best at least show your face,” Beverley said. 

“Yes, perhaps that's a good idea.” He looked back and smiled at me quickly, before getting out of the car. 

If there was ever going to be a time when I felt like I didn't know what the hell I was doing, this was going to be it. 

Beverley lead us through the neo-Victorian lobby into a ground floor flat. It was hot inside, much hotter than the street, almost tropical and I realised now why Thomas was wearing a lighter suit and less layers than normal; I wish I could say the same. Even before we'd approached Mama Thames I felt the familiarity of the place, right down to what would prove accurate guesses as to the food that was waiting to be served in the kitchen.

The living room was crammed full of leather three-piece suites and a giant plasma TV, next to which stood an honest to god mangrove tree, looking like we'd taken a wrong turn and wandered into the greenhouse at Kew Gardens. Lined up along the sofas were middle-aged African women and one white woman in a pink cashmere twinset and pearls – I knew enough to recognise her as Lea, and the others as Fleet, Effra, Chelsea and Olympia. And of course the ubiquitous Lady Ty. 

And then there she was, the Goddess of the River Thames herself, seated as if upon a throne, her power so tangible I could taste it, like sweet sap on my tongue, like a rush of desire to my groin. 

“Wizard,” she said to Thomas, who offered a respectful bow. 

“Mama Thames. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

“Beverley has the persuasion of youth on her side,” she said, fingers touching lightly at the gemstone laden necklace around her neck that probably cost more than my parent's flat. “As you have the persuasion of age.”

A small child, who I figured to be Brent, skidded into the room and slammed into mine and Thomas' ankles. She was lighter skinned than her sisters and wearing an England shirt. I helped her to her feet and she made a face at me. 

“He smells funny,” she said. 

“That's because he's a wizard,” Mama Thames said, “and this is grown-up business. Lea?” 

Lea stood and lifted a squirming Brent up to balance on her hip before taking her out of the room. 

“Step forward, Peter Grant.”

I did so, just as Beverley and Thomas took a few steps backwards. 

“I have heard many things about you, Peter.”

I slanted my eyes over to where Lady Ty was sitting before bringing them sharply back to Mama Thames' face. When I'd walked in there had been a sheen of youth about her, but I could tell now, as my mind drifted towards cataloguing all the different rivers in the room, that it was some sort of glamour. Thomas hadn't really covered glamour with Abigail accept in a passing fashion – she hadn't seemed that interested in delving further, it was me who had done some extracurricular in the library when nobody but Molly was at home. 

Mama Thames smiled, and it was like the sun had come out. “Do you know how many men the wizard has lain with before you?” she asked. 

I blinked and behind me I could hear the anxious shuffling of feet. I considered if this was a race thing, and then a gay thing, but then I realised it was a prod at a wound you assume is covered up by years of repression. Luckily I've never been the jealous type. 

“I know he hasn't been celibate the last one hundred years,” I said. I knew about the men in New York where he explored the jazz scene as a guest of the Baroness. I knew about the man in Chennai who took him on a tour of the places no self-respecting Englishman would visit if they weren't hard-wired with an insatiable curiosity. I knew about the clubs and hotels in London that turned a blind eye to what had been a very illegal activity. I knew about the man who convinced him that he no longer had to hide that part of himself away in the Folly. I also knew none of that was any of Mama Thames' damned business. 

Some of that must have shown on my face, or maybe she read my mind for all I know, because the next thing was she was leaning back in her seat and everyone in the room seemed to relax. 

“You've picked yourself a smart one here, Wizard.”

“I like to think so,” Thomas said, and stepped up next to me. He brushed his hand against my lower back and I drifted slightly closer to him. Beverley snorted but came to stand on my other side. I was now more curious than ever to see what had brought these two into agreement. 

“Nothing like this has been done before,” Mama Thames said. 

“As I've been told a lot recently, the Folly needs to adapt to the modern world. Arrangements can be rearranged.”

Mama Thames looked over at Lady Ty. “Ty?”

Lady Ty pursed her lips and then stepped forward to address her mother. “There are worse people we could associate with than Peter,” she said, damning me with faint praise. “And the Nightingale has shown himself to be _adaptable._ ” She turned and gave the three of us the once over. “The Commissioner doesn't see the need for two apprentices but is amenable to an agreement amongst ourselves. A six month probationary period should be enough.”

“Enough for what?” I found myself asking. 

“For the Commissioner to realise that keeping you outside the Folly is more trouble than it's worth,” Ty said, with a wicked smile that I didn't trust for a second. 

“One of the duties of yourself and Miss Brook will be working as a liaison between myself and Mama Thames,” Thomas said, and the words “errand boy” immediately popped into my head, “whilst Mama Thames teaches you about the history of the rivers, and I teach you the history of the Folly.”

Learning about the history of the Folly wasn't strictly speaking learning magic, but I decided that was a conversation we could have in private. 

“Do you agree?” Mama Thames asked me. 

“I'm going to need the details in writing,” I said. 

“Oh, yes, Wizard, you chose well with this one,” she said and with a flick of well manicured fingers Ty was handing over a fifteen page document with two pages of addendum's. 

* * * * *

We ate, after receiving the proper and necessary assurances, chicken and rice washed down with bottles of Star Beer and I very carefully went through every line of the contract. When I was satisfied there was nothing in there that was going to have me regretting every single one of my life choices I handed it over to Thomas, who slowly read through it himself, twice. 

“You don't have to have say yes,” Thomas whispered. “I know this has all rather been sprung on you last minute.” He chanced a quick glance over at Lady Ty, who was watching us while pretending to text on her phone. “Things rather got away from me once the ball had started rolling.”

“I can handle six months,” I said. Because it gave me a solid deadline to work towards and, okay, after everything I'd heard from Thomas and Abigail I was curious about the demi-monde and learning more about that world could only help community relations. 

“Six months,” Thomas said, pressing a hand to my knee for a brief second. “Six months to convince the Commissioner that I need an apprentice who's also a police officer.”

“And if he doesn't agree after that?” 

“Then I'll take you on anyway.”

I signed the contract. 

* * * * * * 

Thomas' phone rang as Mama Thames started giving me instructions and he excused himself to talk outside in the hallway. Beverley took out a police standard issue notebook and started making notes. 

“Where did you get that?” I asked. 

“Your pocket,” she replied. 

I patted myself down and found that at some point she'd distracted me enough to take it out of my inside pocket. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” I said, taking it off her and finding it hard to stay mad at her. 

“You sure you're ready for this?”

“Are you?” I asked. “What are you getting out of this anyway?”

We were still sat next to each other on the sofa, but now people were milling about, removing the plates and glasses from our meal. I absolutely imagined Lady Ty giving us an approving look as she said her goodbyes. I could hear her outside saying goodbye to Thomas and tried to work out what the mood was between them; maybe I was just wanting to look on the bright side, but it almost seemed friendly. 

“She's coming around,” Beverley said to me. “Nightingale's not _that_ bad.”

“A ringing endorsement,” I replied. “I hadn't realised you two were friends.”

Beverley shrugged. “Friends is pushing it,” she said, but she was smiling and I thought that okay, Beverley might make a pretty good ally. 

“You didn't answer my question,” I pointed out and she sighed and then settled back into the sofa. 

“Do you know how Mum became the Goddess of the Thames?” she asked. 

I nodded and smiled at the memory. When Abigail was starting her apprenticeship she'd wanted to know everything about everything. I think it's the first time Thomas really worried that he'd bitten off more than he could chew, though I don't imagine it was the last. 

He'd looked so adorably flustered (this may have been the moment I first thought about him as more than Abigail's teacher, though I'm not planning on letting him know that) that I suggested he put together an induction pack which could be used for Abigail and any future apprentices. He'd written biographies on key players in long hand and I'd typed it up on the computer for him and got it bound at a local shop. Now he writes it out for Abigail and she types it up when he has additions to make, but I still give it the once over before she takes it to the print shop. 

But how Mama Thames came into being had been the first question Abigail was keen to get answered. 

“She was a nurse and jumped into the river after a failed love affair,” I said. 

Beverley grinned. “You sounded just like Nightingale then, you know? But you get a gold star anyway.”

“Thanks. What does that have to do with you wanting to be a community liaison?”

“Mum's obsessed with us becoming doctors and nurses and I really, really don't want to do that. So, this is the next best thing. Helping Mum out gets her off my back while I figure out what I want to do. Sort of like a gap year. And who knows, maybe I'll want to join the police too.”

Thomas came back into the room at this point and offered up his apologies. “I'm afraid I have a case I need to get to. You'll be all right here?”

“Yeah,” I said, “I think it's going to be okay.”

He smiled at me and I could tell he wanted to do something more than just say goodbye but he wasn't going to in front of Mama Thames. She, however, clearly had other ideas. 

“Is that how you say goodbye to your boy?” she asked, and I felt her power rising and falling through the room and straight to my dick which became painfully hard in seconds and I bucked up in surprise. 

“ _Really?”_ ” Thomas asked looking over at her. 

“Consider the final agreement as sealed with a kiss,” she said, smiling. Beverley had hopped off the sofa quickly and left the room, as had everyone but Mama Thames. 

Thomas turned to look at me, with the sort of resigned expression on his face that nobody wants to see on their other half. “Peter?”

The desire was pulsing in my veins and I licked my lips. “Please,” I said, wanting to reach out and pull him forward but keeping my hands instead firmly grasping the edge of the couch. 

Thomas leaned forward then and kissed me, soft at first and then deeper as he pushed me into the couch and I grabbed at him, pulling him towards me until I was rutting up against him once, twice, a final time and I came so hard the world lost focus for a good minute. Thomas stayed next to me the whole time, keeping me shielded from Mama Thames' knowing eyes. 

“All right?” he asked, when my breathing had got back to something approaching normal. 

“Yeah,” I gasped. “That was....we don't have to do that every time do we?”

Thomas laughed. “No. Absolutely not.” He hesitated a second. “It'd probably kill us both.”

“Here,” Beverley said, suddenly appearing back in the room and throwing me a pair of black jeans. “You can get changed in one of the upstairs bedrooms.”

Never have I been more grateful for a pair of trousers. I said a quick goodbye to Thomas then made my polite excuses to Mama Thames who seemed very pleased with herself and dashed upstairs. Whatever else, this new assignment wasn't going to be boring. 

* * * * *

Our first mission, should we choose to accept it, which we did, was to make a visit to the son of Father Thames, Oxley, and his wife Isis. I knew there'd been some disagreement between Father Thames and Mama Thames which had been solved by Abigail spending six weeks doing a school project on the Teddington Lock. She'd complained about it, but I secretly think she quite liked it. Especially when Thomas showed her what I'm told was some impressive water based magic. 

Anyway, Mama Thames wanted us to pass on a letter to Father Thames, via Oxley, relating to some celebration she wanted to have; “reigniting the spring passions” Beverley had explained to me, which wasn't any explanation at all. This meant a trip out to Chertsey, one of the many parts of the greater London area I'd never ventured into before. 

Chertsey gets a mention in the Domesday Book, and I don't mean to suggest that the further away from London the more medieval you get, but passing through Staines is nobody's idea of a good time. We were in Beverley's yellow mini, the least said of which the better, with me driving and her navigating, since she'd apparently “know the way blindfolded” despite never having been there before. 

I didn't bother asking. 

“Here,” she said and I parked up parallel to the river outside a pink stucco bungalow. 

“You okay?” I asked. She'd been getting increasingly more tense the longer the drive had gone on. 

“I'm allowed here,” she said. “I'm on official business.”

I didn't think she was talking to me so didn't take offence at the sudden quick dash she made out of the car and towards the front door of Oxley and Isis' house. I jumped out after her and was just about breathing normally when Isis opened the door. 

“Peter, Beverley,” she said, “what a surprise.”

I knew she and Beverley had met once before, at Teddington Lock, in what Thomas had told me had been a completely coincidental encounter. He'd even managed to say it with a straight face, which had been impressive. 

“What brings you both here?”

“We're the Folly's new community liaison,” I said and Isis raised a delicate eyebrow. 

“I see, well do come in.” She walked a little quicker in front of us than was strictly normal until we got outside where Oxley had built a wooden wharf projecting out into the water. Oxley was standing, as naked as the day he was born, in a pool made by two weeping willows that protected his modesty from the outside world. Or the outside world from his modesty.

“Oxley, dear, the Nightingale's done something surprising again.” 

Oxley turned as if to ask what that might be, and then clocked a look at Beverley. Beverley took a careful step backwards. 

“Your wizard runs deep, doesn't he Peter?” Oxley said, to which I didn't have an answer. Fortunately one wasn't needed as Beverley had slowly inched forward until she was close to the river. 

“It's lovely here,” she said and Oxley smiled at her. 

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes please,” she said without hesitation and the next thing I knew she was stripping out of her clothes and disappearing into the river. I suppose this counts as community liaison when you're the daughter of a river goddess. 

“You two would make a lovely couple,” Isis said, watching me as I watched Beverley's strong legs kicking above the water before vanishing below. Without making any bubbles I noticed. I gave myself a moment to think if this was true, but no. I wasn't blind, Beverley was a very attractive woman, but she didn't make my heart skip a beat the way Thomas did. 

“No,” Isis said, touching my elbow with two of her fingers. “No, perhaps not. And I don't think the Nightingale would want to share you any more than he does already.” I didn't get the chance to ask her what she meant by that because she was taking me towards a plastic garden table and offering me a slice of Madeira, which I accepted after the necessary recitations. Thomas had said trust had to start somewhere and while Beverley and I were liaising for the Folly we would be under his protection. That didn't mean there wouldn't be any consequences, but Thomas seemed to think that Beverley was now as obligated to look after me as he was. 

I hadn't asked what Beverley thought about that. Though weirdly I think I knew. 

“Your wizard chose his boy well, didn't he?” she said and I failed to keep my sigh in check. Isis smiled and then lowered her head. “My apologies. He chose his young man well.”

“What makes you think he chose me?” I asked, and she laughed, and it felt like the sun was coming out from behind the clouds. 

“Yes, of course you chose him. He wouldn't trust his judgement in such matters. Not after Trent.” She paused and pushed another slice of cake on me, which I declined. “Has he ever...?”

“I know about Trent,” I replied. 

The River Trent is the third longest river in the UK, after the Severn and the Thames. It's source is in Staffordshire near Biddulph Moor and it passes through the Midlands before joining the River Ouse to form the Humber Estuary. Trent, the man, lives near his river at Holme Pierrepont National Watersports Centre in Nottingham where he enjoys kayaking and white water rafting. I knew this because Thomas had mentioned it once. 

I also knew that Trent had made a trip down to London for six weeks and to ask Thomas to do some Latin translation for him. One thing lead to another and Thomas had five weeks of enjoying a bit of rough before Trent left in the middle of the night, taking his translation with him and leaving only a note that told Thomas that it would be best if none of his family ever heard anything about it. As far as I knew Thomas had never exchanged another word with him. 

“Well, what can you expect from a river that floods so often?” Isis asked. “Though if nothing else it did stop the speculation over Nightingale's bedmates. I don't know whether you've noticed, Peter, but the Rivers do like a good gossip. Though naturally that's not what they call it.”

This I had in fact discovered, via Lady Ty and Abigail's continuing weird friendship. 

“I thought they didn't like to interfere, though,” I said. 

Isis shrugged. “Knowledge and interference are two very different things. Sharing that information is another thing entirely. You're as much a part of the Folly as Molly is, you won't have access everywhere.”

“I'm the police,” I said with a shrug of my own. “I even have my very own access all areas pass,” and I patted my jacket where my warrant card was nestling against my chest. 

“Yes, I suppose you are,” Isis said. “But not just the police, I think.”

I opened my mouth to ask what that might mean when Beverley dashed up on the wharf, laughing and almost giddy with it.

“Oh, Peter, you should see it down there,” she said. I made some non-committal sound, trying to work out how to tell her she was jumping about naked when she realised herself. 

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

“Towels are in the bathroom,” Isis said and Beverley ran off in that direction. Oxley followed at a more sedate pace. 

“Peace in our time,” he said to Isis, who slapped at his hand as he tried to grab a slice of cake. 

“Clothes first, please,” she said brooking no argument and then turned to me as Oxley grinned and headed inside the house. 

“Of course we'll be delighted to pass on your message to Father Thames,” she said, surprising me. 

“How did you...?”

“It's part of the new agreement. Mama Thames' daughters have a prominent position in her court, as Father Thames' sons have a prominent position in his court. But the daughters are also a force to be reckoned with on their own account, and Father Thames thinks it's time his sons were spoken of with the same deference. I suppose you could say Oxley and myself are acting as community liaison for Father Thames.”

And that was it, wasn't it? Why this was mine and Beverley's first stop. Mama Thames wanted it to look like her idea to reach out to Father Thames and Thomas wanted Father Thames to look so busy that he had to delegate his work to his sons. No one lost face and everyone knew where they were. 

Isis rested her fingers on my chin and turned my head a little to look at me more clearly. I tried not to flinch or pull away. 

“I'd say the both of you run very deep indeed,” she said and then let go of me, extending a hand for the letter Mama Thames had written which I carefully retrieved and handed over to her. 

“We can contact you at the Folly, can we?” she asked and I hesitated a moment before passing over my mobile number as well. Thomas was right, trust had to start somewhere. 

* * * * * 

Beverley and I stopped off at The Kingfisher by Chertsey Bridge for a late lunch as recommended by Oxley. They did some pretty decent food and had a nice atmosphere, if a little too quaint with its low ceilings and mismatched chairs. 

It was while we were eating that I discovered two things I hadn't known before. The first was that Beverley, when she'd barely hit her teens, had taken an instant dislike to Trent who she'd met when he'd gone to pay homage to her mother. 

“Arrogant dipshit. None of us could understand what the Nightingale saw in him – though I didn't realise they were a thing till afterwards. I heard Ty and Fleet talking about it though.” Beverley tilted her head a little, and I wondered if she were about to talk out of turn. “I think that's why it's taken Ty so long to warm up to Nightingale.”

I coughed on my drink. There was nothing warm about Ty's feelings for Thomas. Not ice cold any more, but certainly not warm. 

“Yeah, all right,” Beverley agreed. “But she saw him making friendly with a visiting River and figured it was cause he was white. By the time she realised there was more going on than that, well, damage had been done.”

“What was he like?” I asked her. 

“I've just told you.”

“No, I mean...” 

Beverley smiled, like the cat who'd got the cream. It was a smile I'd be seeing a lot. “You mean was he as handsome as you?” she asked, with a teasing lilt to her voice. She pressed her ankle against mine under the table and I wondered, just for a second, if this was what having a sister was like. 

“No,” I said. Though obviously I meant yes. 

Beverley took pity on me. “White, tall, Oxley's type of build, dark hair. Kind of swagger to his walk, like he owned every room he went into. The kind of walk people are always surprised Nightingale doesn't have.”

I hummed a little at that. Thomas, for all his old fashioned posture, did have a way of fitting in wherever he went. It could have been a police thing, but I thought it was probably just a Thomas thing. 

“Thomas said it was a “my god I'm really ageing backwards” fling that got away from him,” I told her, and hoped it wouldn't be an admission I'd regret.

Beverley's expression changed, to something softer. “My sisters don't need to know everything,” she said. “I'm good at keeping secrets.”

“Thanks,” I replied. 

“We're a team,” Beverley said. Which was more comforting than it probably should have been.

The second thing I learnt was that Beverley and Molly were indeed friends and that Molly had a Twitter account. Abigail had helped her set it up apparently. 

“How do you not know these things?” Beverley asked me and all I could do was shrug. I was betting Thomas had no idea either. 

* * * * * 

Beverley dropped me off at the Folly before heading out to meet her friends for a night of clubbing to celebrate her new role. She'd asked if I wanted to go too, but a day filled with rivers and their powers, however much they think they're reigning it in in front of me, was starting to make my shoulders ache. 

It took me a few seconds to realise what was wrong, but then I hit on it. It was only just starting to get dark but every light at the Folly was turned on, including in the rooms I knew no one but Molly ever went into, and she only did it every few months to dust. A building full of light shouldn't be a worry, but I'm police, and everything out of the ordinary is a worry. And because I'm police, I ran up the front steps two at a time and burst through the front door. 

Abigail, who'd been pacing up and down the foyer let out a scream and jumped. Molly just tilted her head to one side. 

“What's going on?” I asked. 

They both automatically looked upwards, where I could hear some banging and a voice that sounded a lot like Thomas. 

“Abigail?”

“I was supposed to have a lesson with him earlier,” she explained. “He told me to fuck off.”

I blinked. It was one of those weird moments when you're not quite sure if the world is real or if you're stuck in a bad dream. I'd barely heard Thomas swear, not outside the bedroom anyway, and he certainly would never swear at Abigail. Something was very wrong. 

“Dr Walid's on his way,” Abigail said, just as something upstairs fell, or was pushed over, and made a loud crashing sound. 

“How long's he been like this?”

An hour according to Molly. Which left a lot of time unaccounted for. I wanted to check on him and make sure he was all right, but there was the off chance that he wouldn't tell me what had happened and it's never a good idea to go into a situation without doing some research first. Which is why I moved off to the library, trailed by Molly and Abigail, and phoned Sahra Guleed, on the reasonable assumption she'd know what case Thomas had been called out to that morning. 

“Oh, hasn't he said?” Sahra asked. “It wasn't one of the Folly's cases in the end. He only stuck around for about an hour or so. We nabbed the real culprit not long after. Got an obsession with some rock band and had drawn pentagrams all over his room. One of the uniforms chanced a call to the Folly; Seawoll was not pleased when he found out.”

The implication being that the Belgravia team were now a dab hand at sorting the weird bollocks from the not weird bollocks and didn't appreciate any sleight on their expertise.

“He didn't say where he was going after did he?”

“No. Back to the Folly I thought. Has something happened to him?”

I could hear banging from upstairs and was getting even more worried. “I'm not sure. Do me a favour? Don't let on about this conversation. Not yet, anyway.”

There was a pause and then Sahra said, “I'm done for the day. You need me to come over?”

“I – no, I'm sure...”

“I'll be there in twenty,” she said, then hung up before I could argue with her. I'm not sure I would have if I'd been able. 

Molly and Abigail both looked relieved when I told them Sahra was coming too, which did wonders for my ego. 

“All right, I'm going up. You two stay here.”

The fact that they both nodded and did exactly that was probably the most obvious sign yet that the state of Denmark was very fucked indeed. 

* * * * * 

Unsure of what I would find I slowly walked up the stairs, even though I really wanted to break into a run. Once I'd reached the second floor landing I had to step around the contents of the dresser that had stood at the top of the stairs and was now lying on it's side. Thomas was standing at the other end of the corridor, slashing at a painting of a dove in a cage with a pair of scissors. 

“Thomas?” I asked, then repeated the questions as my voice cracked. “Thomas, can you hear me?”

“I said I didn't want to be disturbed,” he snapped, voice colder than I'd ever heard it. He kept his back to me, the scissors now attacking the wall behind as much as the painting itself. 

“Thomas, please...” I said, slowly moving forward. Keep calm, voice at normal level, arms outstretched, all things you were taught at Hendon for dealing with agitated suspects. I had the feeling my training was going to be put to a lot of use this evening. 

“I don't want _you_ here,” he said. 

“Can you tell me what happened? Did someone attack you?” 

“The only person attacking me is you! Why won't you leave me alone?” He turned around then, brandishing the scissors and I could see at some point he'd cut his hand because blood was dripping down his wrist. 

“You're hurt. Let me help.” 

“ _You_? Help _me?”_ he sneered. “I'd rather go back to Ettersberg”. 

It's not him, I told myself. He quite clearly didn't know what he was saying. I wasn't entirely sure he knew who I was. 

I turned at a sound behind me and breathed out a sigh of relief as Dr Walid appeared at the top of the stairs with his medical bag. 

“Peter? What's happened?” 

“Why won't you all just leave me alone?” Thomas shouted, and pulled the painting he'd been attacking off the wall and throwing it onto the floor. Then he slumped down to his knees as he lost his balance and stayed there, breathing heavily. 

Dr Walid came level to me. “How long has this been going on?” 

“Molly said he's been back at least an hour. But we don't know where he was before that. Do you think – do you think it's magic related?” 

Dr Walid looked over at me before returning his attention to Thomas. “I don't think this is a stroke, no. Could he have needed to use his reserves of magic today?” 

“I think we'd know, wouldn't we?” I asked. That wasn't the sort of thing that went unnoticed. Not these days. 

Dr Walid nodded his agreement. “Thomas, I just need to examine you.” 

“The library won't stop talking,” Thomas whispered. “Why won't it be quiet?” 

Dr Walid made the age old “distract the disturbed person so I can get a closer look” motion so I slowly knelt down on Thomas' right while Dr Walid crouched on his left. 

“Thomas, look at me,” I said and Thomas did, though his eyes were so unfocused I wasn't sure he could see me. Which is why when he grabbed me and pulled me into a kiss I was so surprised I lost my balance and lent into him further, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin. 

“That'll do it,” I heard Dr Walid mutter and managed to extract myself with some of my dignity intact. 

“I do love you Francis,” Thomas said to me, and I tried not to take it personally, tried not to see a parade of Thomas' past loves dancing before his eyes, but it was hard to keep my flinch unseen by Dr Walid. 

“Who's Francis?” Dr Walid asked. 

“No idea,” I replied. I couldn't recall Thomas ever mentioning someone by that name. Which definitely made it worse. 

“Look at this,” Dr Walid said, and I saw that while Thomas had been distracted he'd opened up his shirt and revealed a rash travelling from his neck to his chest. “His pupils are dilated, he's feverish, loss of balance, confused and I'd wager hallucinating if not full on delirium.” He sat back on his heels. “We need to get him to hospital straight away, but these are all the classic symptoms of atropine poisoning.” 

“Are you sure?” I asked. 

Dr Walid nodded. “Pretty sure. Hot as a hare, blind as a bat, dry as a bone, red as a beetroot, and mad as a hatter.” He saw my expression. “Yes, well, this fits, don't you think?” 

I didn't suppose I could argue with that. 

“Why are they whispering?” Thomas asked, his head now pressed up against the wall. “What are they trying to say?” 

Dr Walid and I looked at each other, and then both slowly stood. 

“Thomas,” Dr Walid said, “you're going to come with me now, okay?” 

“Car or walk?” I asked. 

“Can you get the Jag ready?” 

“My car's right outside,” Sahra said and I turned to her gratefully; I hadn't heard her come up. 

“Thank,” Dr Walid said, and slowly helped Thomas to his feet. 

“What happened?” 

“He's been poisoned,” I explained. 

“Who by?” 

“Good question,” I said, but I was distracted from any thing else because Thomas was now pressed against me and I could feel just how fast his heart was beating. “We need to hurry.” 

“Absolutely,” Dr Walid agreed. “Come along, Thomas.” 

Thomas allowed us to help him down the stairs, Sahra leading the way with Dr Walid and myself on either side of him. He nearly slipped on the steps twice, and it seemed clear that his eyesight was deteriorating. 

“We're taking him to the hospital,” I told Molly and Abigail, who were waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

“I'm coming too,” Abigail said. 

“No, you should stay here.” 

“I'm _coming_ ,” she replied. 

Sahra cut off my next objection by handing over her car keys. “Get the doors open.” 

Abigail ran off to do just that. 

“We haven't got time for an argument,” Sahra said and I nodded and just concentrated on helping Thomas put one foot in front of the other. 

* * * * * 

I learnt a lot about atropine in the week that followed. I probably aged a good couple of years too. 

Derived from the deadly nightshade plant, atropine generally has an unmistakably bitter taste, and it was on this basis that Dr Walid closely examined Thomas and found the injection site just on the inside of his elbow. Which meant someone had to have got very close to him to be able to inject him with the poison – which crossed off Lesley May from the list of suspects, but not the Faceless Man, since we didn't have any idea what he looked like. 

Atropine is a mixture of two different forms of a chemical called hyoscyamine - _l_ -hyoscyamine and _d_ -hyoscyamine, mirror images of each other. Individual responses vary, some people can die from a dose as low as 10mg, others have survived 1,000mg but toxic symptoms generally begin at around 5-10mg with a lethal dose of around 100mg. We'd learn later that Thomas had been given a dose of over 50mg. 

Once absorbed into the bloodstream atropine is quickly distributed through the body. It interacts with the autonomic nervous system and the parasympathetic nervous system, the first impacting on the fight or flight responses of the body, the second on the rest and digest functions of the body – production of saliva for instance, which lead to Thomas' dry mouth and inability to produce the words he wanted when we were travelling to the hospital. The hallucinations he suffered come from the effect of atropine on the central nervous system – Thomas later told me as well as thinking that books and walls were talking to him, he also kept seeing skeletons with the faces of his old Folly colleagues asking him why he was alive and they weren't. 

It has a short half-life but can take a long time to get out of the body. Luckily there are plenty of easily obtainable antidotes available including the one that Dr Walid eventually used after consulting TOXBASE, the toxicology database of the National Poisons Information Service – an IV drip of physostigmine. 

Abigail and I spent that first night uncomfortably slumped in the chairs in Thomas' room, me holding Thomas' hand, Abigail pretending that she didn't want to. At some point someone put a blanket over us both but I was so exhausted I didn't wake up until Dr Walid came in with coffee for me, tea for Abigail and bacon sandwiches for the both of us. 

“He's responding really well,” he told us. “Not quite out of the woods, but I'm expecting a full recovery.” 

Abigail put her hand over Thomas' and lowered her head so we couldn't see her relieved tears. I knew how she felt but got up to talk to Dr Walid outside in the corridor instead of draw attention to her. 

He moved me away from the uniformed officer standing guard outside Thomas' room and put his hand on my elbow. 

“How are you holding up?” 

“I'm fine,” I said, which was mostly true. “Really, I am. He's going to be okay. Now we just need to find out who did this.” 

Dr Walid nodded, apparently satisfied with my story. “I've already given everything I could to Sahra. She said something about following up on CCTV.” 

“Right. They'll need to track his movements. Find out where he was yesterday after he left her crime scene.” 

“Peter!” a voice called suddenly and I was surprised to find DCI Seawoll bearing down on me. 

“Sir?” 

“How are you holding up?” 

“Fine, thanks, sir,” I replied, still a little confused to see him. 

“Here,” he said, and handed over a bag. “Your housekeeper gave it to me. Fresh clothes.” 

“I, o-kay.” I think this was probably the first time that Seawoll and Molly had ever come face to face and I had no idea how to process that. Nor why he was the one bringing me a change of clothes. 

“We need to go see the Commissioner,” Seawoll took pity on me to explain. “And you look like shit.” 

“Sir,” I agreed, because that was probably true. Wait. “The Commissioner?” 

“The need for a second police officer at the Folly has suddenly become apparent to him. You're to be loaned out to the Folly under my supervision, until Nightingale gets back on his feet. I'm told interested parties are in agreement.” 

Which meant that Thomas and I were going to owe Lady Ty for a very long time. 

“Right,” I said. “I'll just go get changed.” 

I'd been at UCH enough times to know where there were changing rooms I could sort myself out in and freshen up. Seawoll had been right, I did look terrible and once I'd finished I didn't really feel that much better. When I did this I'd wanted Thomas to be by my side. Not just that, I'd wanted it to be his decision, not one forced upon him by circumstances. But as ever, nothing quite worked out as I'd planned. 

Before I left with Seawoll I popped in to say goodbye to Abigail. 

“You're staying?” I asked her. 

She nodded. “Can you let school know?” 

“All right,” I agreed, because I'd feel better if Thomas had someone with him and I knew she wouldn't get any work done today. “Just for today, though. I'll call them on the way.” 

She looked up at that. “Where are you going?” 

“I have to speak to the Commissioner. And then I'm going to help Sahra with the investigation. You'll keep me posted?” 

“Course,” she said. “What sort of wizard let's himself get poisoned anyway?” she asked, but she wasn't talking to me and after a few seconds to convince myself that Thomas was breathing normally, I went to find Seawoll. 

* * * * * 

The Commissioner only kept us waiting five minutes, which gave an indication of just how seriously he was taking the situation. 

“I'll keep this brief,” he said, after shaking mine and Seawoll's hands and instructing us to sit down. “I was reluctant to authorise Inspector Nightingale to take on a police apprentice, given community concerns in relation to his young apprentice...” 

“Abigail Kamara, sir,” Seawoll supplied, to my surprise. 

“Thank you. Yes, Ms Kamara. However as she was not a police officer and her apprenticeship did not interfere with Inspector Nightingale's police duties, there wasn't much I could do about it. However, I am given to understand that magic is returning in some force and that the Assessment Unit is vital to the continuing upholding of the Queen's peace. I have also been assured that you are the best man for the job, is that correct, Inspector Seawoll?” 

“Peter has been Ms Kamara's chaperone since the beginning, he has an understanding of this world and as the Folly's community liaison has access to resources outside the usual avenues of the Met.” He paused here and looked uncomfortable, so I could tell what was coming. “He also has a personal relationship with Inspector Nightingale, which is why I've requested I become his line manager.” 

“Yes, indeed.” The Commissioner looked over at me and I had absolutely no idea what he was thinking. 

“I want to be very clear, Peter, an attack on one police officer is an attack on us all so despite your personal relationship with Inspector Nightingale, I expect you to conduct the investigation into his attack in the same manner as you would any investigation, is that clear?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“There won't be any problem about that, sir. Peter's professional conduct is exemplary.” 

I nearly fell off my chair at this, but managed to keep it together long enough to sort my expression out by the time the Commissioner turned to me again. 

“It will be up to Inspector Nightingale to have you recite the necessary oaths, but for the time being I am authorising your transfer to the Special Assessment Unit under Inspector Seawoll's supervision. You will take your orders from him and him alone until Inspector Nightingale is sufficiently recovered. Understood.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very well then, off you go.” 

_* * * * * *_

__

__

When we arrived at Belgravia nick Seawoll turned off the engine, checked his phone, and then stayed where he was, staring straight ahead. I'd been taking my seat belt off and paused, recognising the signs of a tricky conversation on the horizon when I saw one. 

“Have you and Nightingale had any kind of disagreement lately?” he asked me. 

I hadn't been expecting the question, but I should have done. The victim's nearest and dearest are always the first suspects. 

“We had a bit of a disagreement yesterday,” I admitted. “But we made up. And everything was fine between us. I wouldn't hurt him.” 

Seawoll looked at me and nodded, then indicated his phone. “That argument wouldn't have lead you to Graphic Bar off Golden Square, would it?” 

“Yeah. How did you...?” 

“A concerned citizen rang the tip line.” 

I found myself frowning. “But how did they know who I was? Or that Tho-the inspector had been attacked?” 

“Excellent questions Sahra is already trying to answer.” He gave me another clinical once over. “We're going to need to get a statement on tape. Was there anyone...odd, there.” 

By odd I knew he meant someone from the demi-monde. “Only Beverley Brook. She -” got my head straight and chucked water over me were words I was going to have to find a better way to string together. “She was there,” I decided was the best option for the time being. “She's -” 

“Your newest partner in weird bollocks,” Seawoll interrupted. “I heard. You've got ten minutes.” 

Then he got out of the car and I took the opportunity to phone Abigail and get an update. Thomas was doing better, but they needed to keep him sedated while they worked on getting the poison out of his system. Abigail sounded exhausted and I tried to convince her to get back to the Folly for a lie down but she told me she was his apprentice and she wasn't going anywhere. 

I said my goodbyes then texted Dr Walid in the hopes that he'd do a better job of convincing her that she couldn't help Thomas unless she was well rested. 

And then I started to trudge inside, not looking forward to what was to come. 

* * * * * 

There are two types of police interview. The ones that take place in the interview room with the tape and the video and all the accompanying bells and whistles, and the ones that take place in the canteen over a not terribly nice cup of tea. Thankfully, DS Stephanopoulos had met me at the entrance and lead me down to the canteen. 

The morning rush was just dying down and the canteen staff would be on downtime until lunchtime, leaving only the hot drinks self service machine and some slightly stale pastries behind. Stephanopoulos fetched the teas while I found a seat in a corner and waited to see whether she would take the chair opposite me, in which case I needed to be on my guard, or the seat next to me, which meant she was treating this as a friendly chat and not a forerunner to a full blown DPS investigation. 

She sat next to me. 

“Nobody thinks you're responsible for this, Peter, but you know we have to get our timelines sorted. We'll be talking to Abigail and the Folly's housekeeper...” 

“Molly,” I supplied. “She doesn't really talk though.” 

Stephanopoulos gave me a penetrating look. “We can probably leave that to you, then.” 

I nodded; better for everybody's sake really. 

“So, why don't you give me a run down of your day.” 

I took a deep breath and started to sketch out my day. Stephanopoulos seemed faintly interested in the goings on Chez Mama Thames, but not enough to press for details, which I was grateful for. 

“Plenty of witnesses, then,” Stephanopoulos said, almost offhandedly. “And the other night?” 

“We had a stupid row and I went out for a drink. Beverley Brook was there too.” 

“You've spent a lot of time with her in the last day or so,” Stephanopoulos said. She made it sound like a statement, though I could read the question easily enough. 

“She's a – friend,” I said, which seemed weird after not knowing her for very long, but felt right. 

__Stephanopoulos looked at me and nodded. “All right. So, apart from the obvious, can you think of anyone Nightingale's come into contact with recently who might want to hurt him?”_ _

__I'd been expecting this question and had been racking my brain all night, but Thomas hadn't been involved with any cases lately that hadn't also included the Met and I told Stephanopoulos as much._ _

__She sighed. “No encounters with anyone from the...demi-monde?”_ _

__

__

__“Not that he mentioned to me, no,” I said. And I was fairly certain that he would have. Probably. “Abigail might know more.”_ _

__“She's next on the interview list,” Stephanopoulos said. “We'll need a responsible adult. Not you,” she added, before I volunteered._ _

__“Her dad's at a job up in Sheffield,” I said. “I could ask my mum?”_ _

__“All right,” Stephanopoulos said. “Make the call.”_ _

__* * * * *_ _

__The next twenty minutes were spent explaining to my mum exactly what was going on and then fifteen more explaining to Abigail why she needed to come down to the station and leave Thomas. Eventually I managed it by having Dr Walid promise to work out of Thomas' room and not leave his side until Abigail made it back._ _

__Then I headed up to see Sahra in the hopes of being able to help in the investigation, and in search of a desperately needed headache tablet._ _

__* * * * *_ _

__David Carey had been slowly working his way through the CCTV footage of Thomas' journey from Mama Thames' house, to the non-Folly case, and then onwards. Thankfully the Jag was pretty distinctive and, as always the case when a serving police officer is attacked, resources become mysteriously available; I'd never seen the office so busy._ _

__“Nothing odd until we get here,” Carey said to me, pointing at his computer screen. Unlike in the movies CCTV is rarely sharp and clean and though I could make out the Jag clearly enough, I'd have had a hard job picking Thomas out._ _

“Where is that?” I asked. 

“Best I can tell he's coming out of one of the buildings on Bloomsbury Square. You know what he was doing there?” 

I shook my head and we watched in silence as someone came out of the building behind Thomas, and pressed close enough to have injected him with a needle if he'd wanted. I didn't look at Carey as this was unfolding, but I could feel his eyes on me. 

“Looks friendly,” Carey said after a beat. 

I hummed my agreement. “How long was he there?” 

“About three hours or so.” 

“Can we tell what building that is?” 

“Trying to match it up now,” Carey replied, doing just that. 

I was familiar with the area, it not being that far from the British Museum, and of course the Folly. Developed by the 4th Earl of Southampton in the 17th century it was one of the earliest of London's squares, now framed by some of the loveliest Georgian buildings that once would have housed the movers and shakers of the city, and now tended to be full of language schools. Given that Thomas kept surprising me with the amount of languages he at least had a functional understanding of, I wasn't sure what he could be doing there. 

“Uniform have just found Nightingale's car,” Sahra announced, hanging up her phone. “Parked in Bloomsbury Square Car Park, with nails driven into all of its wheels.” 

“Get Forensics down there,” Stephanopoulos said. “Someone wanted Nightingale without his car. Why?” 

I had no answer but it would have been an easy walk from there to the Folly. 

“What time did he leave the Square?” I asked Carey. 

He handed over his notebook while trying to get the computer to do what he wanted. It looked like Thomas had made it to the crime scene at 12, stayed around forty minutes or so and made it to Bloomsbury Square by 1.30. He left around 4.30 and I'd found him around 6.00. 

If he'd come out and found the tyres slashed he wouldn't have taken them into the Car Park, so how had the Jag got there? 

“Kensington College,” Carey said and I blinked and refocused. 

“What?” 

“That's where he came from. Kensington College.” 

Sahra appeared at my shoulder and dialled the number that came up on the College's website. My fingers twitched, wanting to lean over and scroll down the page, but Carey was doing it, far more slowly than I would have liked. 

Instead I listened in as Sahra began talking to the receptionist and then as she told them to expect us in the next half hour. 

“So?” Carey asked, flicking back to the CCTV footage of Thomas and the man who had chased after him. 

“One Thomas Nightingale is enrolled as a student,” Sahra said. “Apparently he's been taking a computer course there for the past six weeks.” 

This was news to me and I did a terrible job of keeping the surprise from my face. “Six weeks?” 

“He was probably embarrassed to tell you,” Sahra said, taking pity on me. 

“Yeah,” I replied. She was probably right. He still very much favoured quill and paper over keyboard and screen but he'd had to adapt pretty fast and hard to life in the modern age once Abigail became his apprentice. He was a fast learner who often paid a lot more attention than I sometimes gave him credit for but I could see why he might want to do his learning in private. He'd have wanted to wait until I went to explain something to him on the computer and then shown me that he knew more than I thought, smiling in that pleased way he liked to do whenever he grasped something I explained to him – from electromagnetism to the small intestine. Part of me was put out that he hadn't told me what he was up to, but mostly I was flattered by how much he seemed to want me to be proud of him. As if he ever need to do anything but be himself. 

“His tutor's going to meet us there,” Sahra said, bringing me back to the here and now. “You coming?” 

“Sure.” 

On our way out we bumped into my mum and Abigail. 

“How was he when you left?” I asked. 

“Sleeping,” Abigail said, looking like she could do with a decent night's rest herself. “Dr Walid said he's over the worst. We just have to wait. I bloody hate waiting.” 

“Mind your tongue,” my mum said, though without any heat behind it. “Have you found out who attacked Thomas yet?” 

“No, not yet,” I said. 

“Well, you make sure you do. And you be careful.” She put her hand on my arm, the closet thing to a hug she'd do in public. Or ever, really. 

“Thanks for coming,” I said to her, the closest thing I'd get to showing my gratitude in front of the other officers at the nick. Mum nodded to me and then went with Abigail and Stephanopoulos to get some more background on Thomas' movements. 

* * * * * 

Sahra parked around the corner of the college in a Georgian lined street and waited while I pulled up the information on the College she and Carey had put together. And then, armed with the necessary details, and with me shaking my head before Sahra asked me if I wanted to talk about Thomas, we headed inside. 

__Ralph Sheldon was a 26 year old white man with tortoiseshell glasses, a thick brown beard. wearing skinny jeans and a t-shirt that said “Kindness is so Gangster” on it, and if I hadn't already known about his Shoreditch address it would have come as no surprise.

Sahra introduced us and Sheldon's eyes widened. 

“Oh, so your Thomas' Peter? He finally showed you some of his computer moves, did he?” he asked with a smile. 

Sahra and I looked at each other. 

“Your Thomas' tutor?” I asked, ignoring the personal questions as was standard procedure drummed into us from pretty much day one on the force. 

“Yeah, he's great isn't he?” Sheldon said. I clocked a wedding ring on his finger but there'd been no mention of a wife, or husband, on his file. “Oh, I just wear this to weed out the losers,” he said, noticing my look. “Now Thomas, definitely not a loser.” 

I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to be jealous or annoyed. I was leaning towards annoyed. 

“When was the last time you saw Inspector Nightingale?” Sahra asked. 

“Has something happened to him?” Sheldon asked. 

“If you could just tell us when you last saw him,” Sahra pressed while I flipped over to a new page of my notebook in order to keep myself occupied. 

“Well, he came for a refresher this lunchtime – I told him he could pop around any time.” He leaned back against the wall. “He really seemed keen to impress you,” he said to me, “and I can see why.” 

“And how long was he here?” Sahra asked. 

Sheldon smirked in my direction and I resolved to keep my eyes on my notebook from here on out. I couldn't wait to see what Thomas thought about this guy, and then I remembered that I wouldn't be checking in with him about anything for a while. 

“Standard lessons are three hours, with a twenty minute break. He had a cup of Earl Grey. I had green tea.” 

I didn't write that down. 

__“And did he happen to mention where he was heading to next?” Sahra asked._ _

“I know where he wasn't going, our weekly pub crawl. Never does.” 

__“Imagine that,” Sahra said, before I could. “Was there anything unusual that happened? Did he seem distracted?”_ _

“You've got to be kidding. Thomas can be seriously focused when he wants to be.” There was a sound of a door opening and closing further down the corridor. “Oh, yeah, Charlie might know. He usually stays behind to lock up for me. Hey, Charlie!” 

A dark skinned black man with tight dreads poked his head around the corner. “Yeah?” 

__“Did you see Thomas Nightingale yesterday?”_ _

“Why? What you heard?” 

I was already putting my notebook back when the man looked at me and Sahra and with the seasoned glance of a man whose spent time at Her Majesty's pleasure, recognised us as police and started to run in the opposite direction. 

__“I'll take the back,” I said, already moving as Sahra headed after Charlie. I pushed the door open and nearly went careening into a young woman with a pushchair before managing to hop around it and keep upright as I got onto the pavement. We'd already made note of the emergency exit by the side of the building when we'd arrived so I headed straight for it, and was rewarded by Charlie coming out quickly and looking back at Sahra as he did so. The inevitable crash left me bruised in places I didn't want to think about for weeks._ _

* * * * 

We took Charlie, who turned out to be a Charles Jeffords, 24, of West Ealing with more convictions for shoplifting than Molly's cooked hot dinners, for a chat back at Belgravia nick. His solicitor had been number one on his speed dial and proved to be a young Jamaican woman who looked disappointed she couldn't accuse me and Sahra of perpetuating a hate crime. 

“My client has prepared a statement,” the solicitor, Jasmine Bailey, informed us. “He will answer no further questions.” 

Sahra failed to hold back her sigh. What that usually means is the suspect knows they're in trouble and are going to try and fob us off with a lesser offence on the off-chance that we won't pursue it further (this hardly ever happens) and that everything other than the statement out of the suspect's mouth is going to be a perpetually unhelpful “no comment.” 

__“Please,” Sahra said, “enlighten us.”_ _

__Charles Jeffords unfolded a piece of paper and shook it as if about to present a lecture. It was my turn to sigh this time._ _

__“Yesterday, 14th June at approximately 4pm I had an altercation with Mr Nightingale.”_ _

“Inspector,” Sahra interrupted. 

__“What?” his solicitor said._ _

“Detective Chief Inspector Nightingale. If we're trying to be accurate. Which I assume you are.” 

__Some days I just sit back and thank my lucky stars that Sahra is on our side._ _

“Um, he's a fed? Fuck.” 

“Mr Jeffords,” his solicitor desperately started to interrupt, “perhaps we could have a moment to...” 

__“Look, all right,” Jeffords said, putting his prepared statement down on the table. “All I did was like, just attack his car, all right. I mean, I was just going to – I mean it fucking growled at me.”_ _

__“The car...growled at you?” I asked. I'd always presumed that the Jag had some sort of magical protection I'd just never assumed that animal noises would have been part of it._ _

“Yeah, like, a fucking lion or something. Man, that's fucked up.” Or a jaguar. 

It was at this point both Sahra and I were to later agree that his solicitor gave up the will to live. 

__“And Inspector Nightingale found you attempting to steal his car?” I asked._ _

__“Yeah, but like, I didn't hardly touch it. And I told him it weren't me that like did his tyres in. I was just admiring the paintwork. Like, I told him there was this woman hanging around. She was looking dead shifty.”_ _

__Sahra and I deliberately didn't look at each other._ _

__“And what did this woman look like?”_ _

“Blonde. Face didn't look quite right, nice boobs though. Looked at me like I was something she stepped in. Thought she was probably one of you lot.” 

There was a time when I wouldn't have recognised that description of Lesley May. But unfortunately now I knew better. 

__“And did you see this woman interact with Inspector Nightingale?” Sahra asked._ _

__Charles Jeffords shrugged. “I just left, you know. Didn't want any hassle.”_ _

Yeah, I know how that feels. 

* * * * * 

We let Charles Jeffords go after that, there not being much reason to keep him locked up other than his general sleaziness which unfortunately had not yet been made a crime and headed up to the office to debrief with Seawoll, Stephanopoulos and David Carey. 

“That explains why we lost the rest of the CCTV footage of the area,” Seawoll said. “Bloody magicking bollocks.” 

__“We still have some leads we can work on,” Sahra said. “Lesley May had to come from somewhere.”_ _

__“If it was her,” I piped up. A gut feeling can only get you so far, after all; it's evidence that counts._ _

Stephanopoulos' phone beeped and she glanced at it quickly. 

__“Well you can rule out a doppelgänger,” she said. “Forensics just confirmed her prints on the car. Judging by the smudging they think she trailed her fingers along it.”_ _

I shuddered before I could stop myself. There was something, unseemly, about Lesley May pawing at Thomas' most favoured possession. 

__“So, what are we thinking?” Seawoll asked. “That Nightingale confronted Lesley and let her get close enough to stab him with a needle?”_ _

__We all looked down at our shoes; that really didn't sound like Thomas._ _

“She must have done something to draw him out,” I suggested. “Something that didn't give him chance to call.” 

__“Maybe he couldn't. Has anyone checked his mobile?”_ _

__I shook my head. As far as I knew it was in his room at the hospital, somewhere I was itching to get back to. Something of that must have read on my face because Stephanopoulos was looking not unkindly at me._ _

“Why don't you head over there, Peter, see what you can find out. David, you think you can manage some more CCTV?” 

__“Yeah, boss, love to,” Carey said, sounding like he was heading off to the gallows. I guess that was just the price he had to pay for taking that specialist course in face recognition software._ _

I was on the short list for this course myself. Actually, I was on the short list for a lot of courses, partly because I've always been keen on professional development and partly because it was a good excuse to get out of the CPU offices. 

__“Sahra, can you liaise with Forensics, see what else they might be able to tell us? Just because Lesley May was there, doesn't mean she was responsible for the attack on Inspector Nightingale,” Seawoll said. “I'd rather we rule more in even if takes longer to rule things out.”_ _

“Id like to go with Sahra actually,” I pitched in. “If that's all right.” 

__“You don't want to head to the hospital?”_ _

__“I can't do anything to help there,” I pointed out. Much as I wanted to see him for myself, he already had the best care he could get and Dr Walid would never let anything happen to him on his watch._ _

__“Okay, see what you can find out and report back as soon as you can.”_ _

* * * * * 

“I need to have a word with Abigail first,” I told Sahra, as we headed back into the main office. 

“I've got some stuff to finish here first anyway. Meet you downstairs in about half an hour?” 

__“Sounds good,” I replied and headed out. That would give me plenty of time to sort my mum and Abigail out and then check in with Dr Walid at the hospital._ _

__I found them, as I suspected I would, in the canteen drinking tea and eating biscuits that were definitely far too good quality to have been standard police issue. A uniform was with them, sat chatting to my mum about, as I learned, a mutual cousin or aunt, or some tenuous family link which meant I'd probably be seeing her all the time at my parent's from here on out._ _

__“Is he all right?” Abigail asked, almost jumping to her feet._ _

“I've not heard anything yet,” I told her, sitting down and waiting for her to reluctantly do the same. “I thought I'd call Dr Walid and we could talk to him together.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. But then I can go back to the hospital?” 

__“You should be getting some sleep,” my mum said. “Or having a shower. You're starting to smell.”_ _

__This wasn't true, as far as I could tell, but sometimes Mum's way of persuading kids to do what she wants leaves a lot to be desired. Abigail, used to Mum, didn't respond other than an eye roll in my direction that she shielded by making it look like she was fiddling with her hair._ _

__“Thomas isn't teaching you manners along with magic, I see,” she said, forcing Abigail to sullenly apologise. The uniform looked uncomfortable at the mention of magic and disappeared back to their shift._ _

“Mum,” I said, aiming I hoped for concerned sort of cousin, sort of guardian person looking after Abigail's well being. I missed. 

“Just because she's messing around with magic, doesn't mean she can backchat. And what's this about you consorting with rivers?” 

My mum's ability to find out what I'm doing before I really know what I'm doing is a thing of beauty. 

__“It's just a temporary thing,” I started to say, but she interrupted with a tut._ _

“No, it isn't. Is this a good thing for your career?” 

__“Yeah. I think so.”_ _

Mum looked at me, then. Really looked at me. 

“I thought Thomas said you couldn't be an apprentice.” 

Abigail shifted uncomfortably in her seat, no doubt expecting a row, but my mum's always thought that chasing down bad magicians was a better use of time than being in the police. Not that she'd ever let that on to Abigail – children shouldn't receive too much praise, after all. 

__“Things have changed,” I said. “It looks like I can be, now.”_ _

__Abigail perked up at that and Mum just looked thoughtful. Not disapproving, not approving, just thoughtful. After a moment she nodded._ _

“Thomas will be all right, won't he?” 

“I'm sure he will,” I said. “He's being well looked after.” 

__“Can we call him now, then?” Abigail asked._ _

__I smiled and got my phone out._ _

__“Dr Walid? It's Peter. I'm with Abigail and my mum. How's Thomas doing?”_ _

“Ah, Peter. Nothing to worry about, I assure you. He's still sedated but we're lessening the dose all the time and he's responding well. We'll probably be waking him up this evening. It would be good if you and Abigail were there then?” 

“Course. Abigail's on her way over now,” I said, over my mum's glare, “and I'll be round as soon as I can.” 

“Do you have any useful leads about who did this?” 

__I hesitated. I didn't want Abigail to know about Lesley May's possible connection to all this, not yet. She'd only do something stupid like try and investigate by herself, and London didn't need any more rogue practitioners running around; we had more than enough as it was._ _

__“Could be related to a past case,” I said, which wasn't exactly a lie. “We've got a few leads but I can't talk about them yet.”_ _

“Of course, Thomas would be most disappointed if you did. We'll be ready by about 5, if you could be at the hospital by then?” 

“I will be,” I replied, hoping that I would be. 

“See you soon, then,” Dr Walid said, and hung up. 

“Here,” I said, taking some money out of my wallet and passing it to Abigail. “You can get a cab outside. Mum, do you-” She took the rest of the money out of my wallet before I could finish. “See you later, then?” 

__“You just find who hurt poor Thomas,” she said, a phrase Thomas probably hasn't heard since indoor toilets became a thing._ _

__“I'll do my best,” I replied._ _

“You'll catch 'em,” Abigail said as I put my phone away, displaying an unusual amount of confidence in my policing skills, until I realised she was saying that for my mum's benefit, and not mine. 

* * * * * 

By the time I saw Abigail and Mum safely off Sahra was waiting for me in her car. I was glad to be keeping busy, but I also wouldn't have minded five minutes to myself. I'd spent some time last night by Thomas' bed thinking about our relationship and my complicated feelings about wanting to be a wizard. 

What I was having a hard time facing up to, and an equal hard time admitting, was that I'd engineered our argument the other day because I'd wanted to see what it felt like not to be Thomas' partner. What if, instead, we broke up and he agreed to make me his apprentice, all past feelings put away in a box and never referred to again. 

__I'd stupidly had that as my back-up plan for a lot longer than I was ever going to acknowledge. I'd mistaken Thomas' stiff upper lip for somehow meaning he cared less about such things than I did, when of course I should have realised that it meant he felt such things deeper. He'd do it, if that's what I really wanted. But of course I didn't, and thinking it at all made it feel like a kind of betrayal._ _

So I took a deep breath and put all those thoughts out of my head. Being a good copper means keeping a clear head, and Sahra was relying on me to have her back, with as little distraction as possible. 

“Do you need to talk about it?” Sahra asked as I got settled and put on my seat belt. 

“Nope,” I replied. 

__“Good,” she said, startling a smile out of me. “Come on, we've got proper police work to do”._ _

__How little truth was in that statement, none of us could have foreseen._ _

* * * * * * 

We headed over to Newlands Park, the Met's forensics suite that backed onto Alexandra Recreation Ground. Unmarked by the typical logos and nestled incongruously in a mainly residential area it's an ugly boxed building, the epitome of designed for functionality and to look as uninteresting as possible. 

__Thomas' Jag had been taken here for further investigation, in case, the theory was, Lesley May or someone else had planted something on it. I was hoping that whatever magical protections the Jag had in place would ensure it couldn't be booby trapped, but since I didn't know what those protections were, or whether Thomas' current incapacity was somehow tied into them, the best I could do was trust in Thomas._ _

__Sahra manoeuvred us through the main gates past a slow moving young woman who put her hood up and turned her face away as she spotted us. Sahra and I did what we ought to patent as the “is that Lesley May?” once over, decided that it wasn't, and carried on into the car park._ _

__We were met outside by the most enthusiastic car mechanic I've ever met, a tall Indian who told us to call him Vik and who had a hard time letting his fingers stop trailing across the Jag._ _

“Now this is the kind of car you can take home to your parents.” 

Sahra, who I've always considered a bit of a petrol head, was smiling appreciatively before she saw me looking and turned her expression into polite interest. 

“Did you find anything unusual?” she asked. 

__“Well, it didn't growl at me,” he said with an interested smile in Sahra's direction._ _

__I knelt down as they got their flirting out of the way and after Vik's nod touched one of the nails in the wheels. They were embedded pretty thoroughly, only a few centimetres showing of each nail, in each wheel, all perfectly symmetrically aligned. I remembered the cold feeling, back at Abigail's school, when I'd first realised that Lesley May had been secretly learning magic; that same feeling made my fingers tingle as I gingerly touched the nails._ _

__“Definitely magic,” I said._ _

“Nothing else suspicious about the car?” Sahra asked Vik. 

“Yeah, actually,” Vik said. He moved over to a table he'd set up away from the Jag. I may or may not have patted the old girl myself as I went by. 

Lying on the table was an ancient looking book, covered in a thin film of dust. I felt the familiar tug towards it that I'd felt at Mama Thames' and took a step back, pulling Sahra with me. 

“Yeah,” Vik agreed. He, I noted, hadn't gone any further towards the table than we had. “It's magic, right? When we realised this was a Falcon case we made sure to touch it as little as possible.” 

“Was it out in the open?” I asked. 

__“In that bag,” he said, pointing to a brown satchel which I knew if I got closer would have the initials TN etched on the clasp. Thomas kept it in the boot of his car for this very reason, transporting things of an unknown magical provenance._ _

“And where did you find the bag?” Sahra asked. 

__“Jammed under the front passenger seat. We figured if Inspector Nightingale stopped off with it on his way back to the nick it wasn't too dangerous, but we don't have any experience in dealing with weird stuff like this. Is it – alive?”_ _

__I looked over at him. “What makes you say that?”_ _

“I thought – this is going to sound weird, but I thought I heard it talking to me, when I was working on the Jag.” 

Naturally it didn't really sound that weird to me or Sahra. 

“So,” Sahra said to me, “what do we do with that?” 

__“We should take it back to the Folly. Molly will know somewhere to keep it secure until Thomas can examine it.”_ _

__“Okay,” Sahra agreed. “And how are we going to do that?”_ _

What she meant was, what are you going to do about it. 

“This is why Thomas needs an apprentice in the police,” I said, more to myself than anything. 

“I'll be sure to put that in my report,” Sahra said. “Meanwhile...” 

Meanwhile, I took a deep breath and edged forward. I picked up the bag first, ignoring the pull just above my belly button towards the book. Thomas might not have felt it was all that dangerous but he was better at knowing what he was doing than I am. 

__I grabbed the bag easily enough, the fresh smell of leather a surprise, as was that crisp smoky smell I'd come to associate with Thomas' magic._ _

The pages of the book twitched, and I saw from the corner of my eye Vik take a few steps back, and Sahra take a few steps forward. That's the problem with the police, whenever there's a problem you're always the ones running straight towards it. 

__“Peter?” Sahra said._ _

“Can you distract it?” I asked, as quietly as I dared. 

__It says something about how well Thomas has started integrating with Belgravia nick that Sahra didn't even question the idea, just took a loud breath and moved up to the book, her fingers trailing near the spine, but not touching it. The book shifted, as if taking an interest, and I used it's distraction to push the book into the bag and lock it away._ _

__“That is some weird voodoo,” Vik said. I didn't bother to correct him, I was feeling a bit too shaky for that._ _

“Peter?” Sahra asked, laying a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?” 

Her words were muffled, as if coming at me through water. I felt cold, down in my bones, and I felt blood on my hands and I could smell smoke, cloying at my nostrils and down my throat. 

If it hadn't been for Vik pulling the bag off my shoulder with a litter picker, I'm not sure what would have happened but a good coughing fit soon set me right. 

“Let's get this locked away in the trunk,” Sahra suggested, and she and Vik did that, while I regained my breath. 

__“You er, seem pretty used to that kind of thing,” Vik said to Sahra._ _

__She shrugged. “No weirder than Soho on a Friday night.”_ _

Vik smiled. “Yeah. I don't suppose you've got any plans this Friday night, have you?” 

I kept myself busy by texting Abigail for an update while Sahra and Vik exchanged numbers. 

“Not a word,” she said to me as we got back into the car. I remained blissfully silent. 

* * * * * 

__As Sahra turned out of the car park we saw the woman who been there when we'd arrived. She was leaning against a lamppost now, doing a pitiful job of not looking like she was waiting to see what we did; clearly she hadn't had any professional training._ _

__“Call me crazy...” Sahra began._ _

“You're crazy.” 

“...but does that woman have a tail?” 

I didn't get the chance to reply because the woman realised we'd clocked her and started to run down the pavement and then skidded to the right down Studland Road. I jumped out of the car in pursuit while Sahra did a U-turn, threw her spinner on top of the car and started driving at speed down Newlands Park, knowing as well as I did that Studland Road is a dead end with a pedestrian path right into Alexandra Recreation Ground. 

Named after Edward VII's queen Alexandra it was turned into a public park in the 1880s. With a paddling pool, picnic tables and kids play area it's a popular haunt for kids and their families but thankfully there were only a few mums with their small kids in evidence as I tried and failed to catch up with our fleet footed friend. 

She obviously knew the area a lot better than me, swerving down a path I hadn't noticed was there and disappearing out into the street on the other side of the park. I was breathing heavily, the taste of smoke still faint on my tongue, and sometimes you just have to let the suspect get away and regroup. I could hear sirens in the distance, but I didn't have much hope of Sahra catching up with her either. 

* * * * 

__We called in the description of the woman (emphasising she was a Falcon suspect and deciding to leave out the possible tail situation) while continuing on our way to the Folly to deliver the magical book._ _

__“Was she one of the...what does Inspector Nightingale call it, the demi-monde?” Sahra asked me after a few moments._ _

“I don't know,” I said. “Thomas – Inspector Nightingale – never specifically mentioned tails, but he might not have considered it important.” I caught her look. “He doesn't always see the world the same way as the rest of us.” 

__“I'm not sure we count as the rest of the world any more,” she said with a small smile and shake of her head. “Never boring his cases though, are they?”_ _

__I snorted. “Nope.”_ _

Sahra pulled us into the parking area at the Folly and nearly jumped as Molly appeared silently at the back door. 

“I'm going to need to fill Molly in on Thomas and give her the book,” I explained. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?” 

__Sahra checked her watch and then nodded. “All right. I can update Stephanopoulos from in there.” She looked hesitatingly over at the building, and I realised that she hadn't had the chance to spend much time in the Folly. Or deal with Molly._ _

“Come on,” I said. “She won't bite. Probably.” 

__Sahra gave me a look that managed to be both sceptical and worried. Which was pretty much what I felt when I was getting to know Molly too._ _

__Molly hissed and took the bag away once I'd explained that Thomas might have been attacked because of it. Then she came back and pulled out tea things and cakes from goodness knows where and insisted that Sahra and I eat in the breakfast room instead of the kitchen, as I'd planned. I presumed this was for Sahra's benefit rather than mine. I know Molly likes me, but she doesn't like me nearly as much as she does Thomas. The tea she served me was hot though, so I figured she couldn't be all that mad at me._ _

I'd given Sahra a brief tour while Molly had been setting up the tea things and she kept throwing a professional eye around the building. 

“This is some house your boyfriend's got,” she said, acknowledging that we were, for the moment, not on work time. 

“It's not his exactly. He was just the last one standing, until Abigail.” 

“And now you.” 

“Not yet,” I pointed out but Sahra looked at me with the same expression on her face my mother got when I told her my A-levels weren't as good as they'd been predicted. 

__“You really think Nightingale couldn't see that same spark of something in you as he did in Abigail? He just happened to meet her first, that's all. It's just politics, Peter, that got in the way. It doesn't seem to me like Nightingale has had a lot of practice with that sort of thing.”_ _

__I smiled. “You have no idea.”_ _

__Sahra finished off her tea. “All right, let's get you to the hospital and I'll see how David's getting along with Nightingale's timeline”._ _

I nodded. “He must have picked up the book some time yesterday, he wouldn't have driven around with it otherwise, and he couldn't have considered it too much of a threat or he'd have gone straight here.” 

__“There is another alternative,” Sahra said. I looked at her blankly. “Has it occurred to you that one of the rivers gave the book to him when you went to see Mama Thames?”_ _

__“Why would they do that?”_ _

__“I don't know Peter, why don't you ask them?”_ _

__* * * * *_ _

I texted Beverley to ask if she could meet up on the way to the hospital and listened in as Sahra updated Stephanopoulos and the others about the magical book. 

__“You're sure it's contained?” Stephanopoulos asked._ _

__“It's secure at the Folly. We're pretty sure Nightingale didn't consider it too dangerous in of itself.”_ _

__“I'm not sure the Inspector has the best track record in that regard,” Stephanopoulos said drily, and I couldn't exactly blame her, not after the thing at Kew._ _

__“And we think this is why he was attacked? To get access to this book?”_ _

__“That's the theory we're currently working on,” Sahra agreed. “Peter's going to look into it after he's finished at the hospital.”_ _

There was a muffled discussion in the background and then Stephanopoulos came back on the line, just as Sahra was parking up by the hospital, ready to let me jump out. 

__“Seawoll wants to know if there's any chance Nightingale has an easily searchable database of individuals in the demi-monde at the Folly.” More muttering in the background. “Perhaps with “has tail” as part of the description.”_ _

__I thought about the libraries and the index cards and the notepads next to Thomas' bed where he scribbled thoughts about cases that came to him in the middle of the night and Abigail trying to rope me into helping her get the Folly into the 21st century and there never being enough time in the day for all of us to do what we wanted._ _

__“Not at the present time, sir,” I said._ _

__This was followed by more muttering where the words “death of me” were clearly audible._ _

__“Give our regards to Nightingale,” Stephanopoulos said, and then abruptly hung up._ _

I looked over at Sahra, and Sahra looked over at me. 

“I'll keep you posted,” she said finally. 

__“Same,” I replied._ _

__And then I hopped out of the car and walked in a confident, nothing to see here manner without even feeling the need to increase my pace until I came to Thomas' hospital room, and found Beverley Brook sitting on a chair outside, talking on her phone._ _

__* * * * *_ _

__I automatically checked my mobile, but there was definitely no message from Beverley saying that she was going to be visiting Thomas. She heard my approach and finished off her conversation with the words “he's here now. I'll tell him”, always an ominous development._ _

__“Beverley,” I said, putting a bit of the long tradition of Her Majesty's Police Force behind it. Beverley didn't look bothered, so I stopped._ _

__“Hiya,” she said. She stood up and I could see she was wearing crop pants and a t-shirt with ALL SHALL KNEEL BEFORE ME written on it in big green letters. I didn't doubt it._ _

__“I didn't know you'd be here,” I said, stating the obvious which is usually the best alternative to appearing completely clueless._ _

__“Nightingale's sort of my boss too,” she said, with a casual shrug that didn't fool me for a second. “Abigail's a friend. You're a friend. Mum sends her regards...And Effra sends her apologies.”_ _

__“Apologies for what?”_ _

__Beverley looked across to Thomas' hospital room. “Effra's the one that gave Nightingale the book. Molly said that might be why Nightingale was attacked.”_ _

__“When did you talk to Molly?” I asked, though really “how did you talk to Molly?” was more to the point._ _

__“She sent me a text,” Beverley said. I blinked. Since when did Molly have a mobile? “Honestly, Peter. It doesn't exactly inspire confidence that you and Nightingale don't know what's going on in your home.”_ _

__“It's not my home,” I said, a little weakly. I couldn't actually remember when I'd spent a night away from there. Beverley ignored me._ _

__“Effra said one of the stall holders at last week's market approached her with the book. He said that it was attracting a lot of attention and he thought the book was hot and didn't want to piss off the Nightingale. I think he wanted Nightingale to owe him one, but Effra dealt with it.”_ _

__“So now he just owes Effra?” I asked._ _

__Beverley smiled. “I like how you're smarter than you look,” she said._ _

__“Ha ha. So, who was he getting a lot of interest from?”_ _

__“He just described them as a man you don't want to cross.”_ _

__“The Faceless Man, then,” I said, resigned to this man being a thorn in our side until we managed to catch the slippery bastard. “No chance he went himself to get this book and the stall holder can provide an ID?”_ _

__“He sent people.”_ _

__“And the stall holder knows for certain they're from the Faceless Man?”_ _

__“Yes, Peter. And no, I can't give you the stall holder's name. I don't know it and Effra won't break a confidence.”_ _

__“Thomas could have died,” I said._ _

__“And the stall holder's already putting his life on the line taking the book to Effra.” Beverley sighed. “Effra said when she last spoke to him he was at Heathrow.”_ _

__“Bloody hell, Bev.” I started going through in my head everything that we'd have to do to track down someone who's fled the country._ _

__“Nightingale must still have friends in Europe he could call on, doesn't he?”_ _

__“I don't know. Maybe,” I replied. Thomas, I'd come to realise long before we started seeing each other, needs a lot of warming up before he talks about his old friends._ _

__“Peter,” Beverley said, “is there any particular reason why you're talking to me out here instead of going to see Nightingale in there?”_ _

__“I'm investigating a crime,” I replied._ _

I thought Beverley was going to tell me I was being an idiot, or being a coward. Instead she gave me a hug. 

“What's this for?” I asked, into the soft braids of her hair. 

__“Someone had to,” she replied. “Also, you're an idiot.”_ _

__I laughed a little wetly and then took a step back. “Thanks.”_ _

__“I'll see what I can find out about who's after the book,” she said. “You just concentrate on Nightingale for a bit, yeah?”_ _

I nodded. “You be careful, though. You're not police.” 

“I'm Mama Thames' daughter,” Beverley said, standing a little taller. “No one's going to lie to me.” 

__And with that, she was gone._ _

__* * * * *_ _

__It took me a few minuets to regain my composure and once I had I slowly walked into Thomas' room. He was sitting up in bed doing the crossword, the colour was back in his face and he looked alert as he raised his head and then smiled as he saw it was me. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I _should_ say, and instead what did I say?_ _

“Did you know Molly has a mobile phone?” 

Naturally he looked slightly taken aback at the question before he sat up a little straighter in his bed. 

__“I suspected as much. Abigail, I expect, is behind it.”_ _

__He turned his head to the left and I saw that Abigail was sleeping on a cot pushed up against the wall, wrapped up in a blanket._ _

__“She refuses to leave,” Thomas said, sounding surprised._ _

__He looked at her rather than at me and I didn't move from my spot at the end of his bed._ _

__“She's your apprentice,” I said, after a minute. “How do you feel?”_ _

__“Better,” he said. “Foolish, mostly.”_ _

__“Foolish?”_ _

__“I'm the last official wizard in Britain, I'm not supposed to be so easily taken down.”_ _

__“You were nearly taken down by a bullet not that long ago,” I pointed out. “You're not invincible.”_ _

__“True. Still, I let someone get close enough to put me in hospital. And frighten Abigail and Molly. And you.” It wasn't quite a statement and it wasn't quite a question._ _

__“You scared the hell out of me,” I admitted._ _

__“Then do you think you could sit down?”_ _

__I nodded around the lump in my throat and, ignoring the chair next to his bed, sat down on the bed itself, pressing my leg next to his. He reached out for my hand and squeezed._ _

__“That's better,” he said. “Abdul told me a little of what happened. It's still quite hazy, but he said I called you Francis?”_ _

__“That's not really important right now,” I said, possibly a little too quickly judging by Thomas' raised eyebrow._ _

“Francis and I were comrades in arms,” he said, with that far away look on his face he only got when talking about the war. “We were just looking for some comfort. No,” he corrected himself, “ _I_ was just looking for some comfort. Francis was looking for something more. I hadn't realised quite how much until one morning when he had to leave much earlier than me and he told me he loved me as he left. And I pretended to be asleep.” 

__I could see where this was going and wished I didn't have to be the one who was always bringing these memories to the surface._ _

__“A few hours after that a German sniper shot him in the head. I was hallucinating quite badly from the drug, and I've always felt so guilty about pretending to be asleep that day...I suppose it all just came out to the surface when I saw someone who...” He trailed off._ _

__“You couldn't lie about something like that. That's not who you are,” I said, staring at our entwined fingers instead of at Thomas._ _

__“No, I suppose it isn't.”_ _

__“Oh, god,” Abigail moaned from her bed. “Can you two just, sort yourselves out, please?”_ _

__Thomas looked over at Abigail and smiled at me. “We're sorted out, thank you, Abigail. Isn't it about time you went home for a proper sleep?”_ _

__“You're not going to do anything silly are you?”_ _

__“Like what?”_ _

__“Go and find the person who poisoned you all by yourself.” She sat up properly on the cot, hair sticking out in all directions, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl._ _

__“I'm a police officer, Abigail. I won't be doing anything of that sort on my own. Now, Abdul says that atropine has no long-lasting affects so why don't you go and find him so he can discharge me, and Peter can fill me in on where the investigation is.”_ _

__Abigail muttered a little to herself but did as she was told._ _

__“So you've really got the all clear?” I asked._ _

__“I promise,” he replied. “So, why don't you tell me what you've found out, and I'll see if any the blanks in my memory get filled in.”_ _

__So I told him about what we'd found out from the CCTV footage and his computer classes (“Ah, yes, my attempt to catch up with the 21st century. I had wanted it to be a surprise.”), finding his car damaged (“I judge Mr Jeffords to have suitably regretted his actions?”), Lesley May's possible sighting near his car and the discovery of the magical book._ _

__“Effra gave it to me when you were getting changed at Mama Thames',” he explained, and I felt myself heating up a little at the memory._ _

__“Do you know what it is?”_ _

__“Did you touch it?” he asked me instead of answering._ _

__I nodded. “It almost choked me, the smell of smoke and ash. It was overpowering.”_ _

__“I didn't have much chance to examine it before all this,” he said, indicating the hospital room. “But it appeared to be some sort of German medical textbook. I rather fear it was connected with Ettersberg.”_ _

__“That might explain the woman with the tail,” I replied, and then had to fill him in about that._ _

__“If this Faceless Man is as interested in the magic used at Ettersberg as he appears, he may be doing his own experiments. Perhaps manipulating these people into doing his dirty work for him.”_ _

__“Like attacking you?” I asked._ _

__Thomas sighed and closed his eyes. “I remember the computer class. We were going over the internet and social media.” He cracked open an eye. “I wanted to be able to understand at least half of what Abigail tells me over breakfast”. He closed his eyes again as I smiled at him, even I was starting to find it difficult to keep up with all the different apps available these days._ _

__“And you went outside, and found Charles Jeffords by your car...” I prompted._ _

__“I talked to him. Warned him off. He went off. He seemed spooked by something but I didn't notice what...I remember I was going to turn but...but Ralph Sheldon called me back. And I went inside the College again.” He opened his eyes and looked at me for confirmation._ _

__“That must have been when Lesley May did whatever she did that caused the tyres to go flat.”_ _

__Thomas nodded. “It couldn't have been a very strong spell or I would have felt it...unless, I do remember now feeling a little sick. And I leaned forward and asked Ralph for a glass of water. I remember thinking he was acting very strangely, and he dropped the glass on the floor and it shattered.” He scrunched up his face, trying to force the memories to come. “And as I went to help him pick up the glass pieces...he seemed to fall a little into me and...” He opened his eyes properly and looked at me._ _

__“What?” I asked._ _

__“I'd cut my hand on the glass and Ralph helped me off with my jacket and I thought I'd just caught it on something as I took it off but...” He pressed his hand to the inside of his elbow. There was a small bruise there, almost undetectable if we didn't already know that's where Abdul had found the injection site._ _

__“So Ralph Sheldon was the one that attacked you?”_ _

__Thomas looked upset at the idea but slowly nodded. “I can't see an alternative. But, I can't imagine why he would. I thought we were, friendly, at least. We should go and talk to him.”_ _

__“Not until Abdul has given you the all clear,” I said._ _

__To which he sighed and agreed, and we sat together on the bed and finished Thomas' crossword until Abigail came back with Dr Walid in tow._ _

__* * * * *_ _

__Sahra turned up to drive us to the College and fill us in on Ralph Sheldon's financials. It turned out that for around the last six weeks (by a stunning coincidence around the time Thomas signed up for the computing class) he'd been making regular payments of £5,000 to an account in a bank that was based in Switzerland and therefore may as well have been on Mars for all the help we'd get finding out who was behind it._ _

__“Are you suggesting that Ralph Sheldon was being blackmailed to spy on me?” Thomas asked. Now that we were outside, away from the hospital lighting, Thomas looked quite pale, but he'd been steady enough on his feet as we walked to the car and Dr Walid had told him that as long as he didn't do anything too strenuous he would be back to his normal self in a day or two._ _

__“It does look like that way, sir,” Sahra said. “Did you never get the feeling he was asking too many questions? Or not enough questions?”_ _

__Thomas shook his head. “He was...” He paused and glanced back at me. “Flirtatious, I suppose, in an obvious sort of way but once you ignored that and he actually taught the class he was very good.” He sighed. “I felt like I learnt a lot from him.”_ _

__If Sahra hadn't been there I might have lent forward and put my hand on Thomas' shoulder, but as I was trying to maintain a modicum of professionalism and I had the sneaking suspicion that Sahra was soon to be lumped into the same group of friends as Beverley, Abigail and Molly, I decided to hum what I hoped was comforting agreement._ _

__Sahra may or may not have rolled her eyes._ _

By the time we got to the College it was starting to get dark and, as Thomas explained, there would be no classes again until the evening classes started at 8. If, however, you were a preferred student, you knew the key code to get into the building after hours. 

We'd already agreed that if Ralph Sheldon wasn't in the building that Thomas would call him there but, as it turns out, there was no need for that. 

* * * * * 

Sahra went in with Thomas while I stayed near the car. I'd have much preferred to be the one going in with Thomas, but I trusted she'd have his back. Just before they'd gone in Sahra had shown me a picture from the Soho bar where I'd gone for a drink that seemed a lot longer ago than a couple of nights. Ralph Sheldon had been the one who'd left his number in my jacket, and I'd bet his little smirks when we'd first talked to him had a lot to do with thinking he'd got away with something when he realised I hadn't recognised him. He must have been the one who told the tip line that's where I'd been. Planting the seed of an idea that I might have attacked Thomas? Or just an all round arsehole? The two weren't mutually exclusive. 

It was after about five minutes that I decided to stretch my legs and head over across the road from the College so that I had a clear eyeline towards the front entrance. 

__I tried leaning casually against the railings to the Square, and then settled on looking like I was checking messages on my phone. It wouldn't fool your sharp-eyed criminal, but it wouldn't stand out particularly if you were just innocently minding your own business._ _

__It was that which probably saved me getting seriously injured, even potentially losing an eye, like one poor passing Italian chef who had the misfortune to be looking up at the buildings around Bloomsbury Square at the exact moment all the windows in Kensington College blew out._ _

There must have been something, perhaps subconsciously recognising Thomas' _signare_ that had me moving to shield myself as the glass came down like rain. I still ended up with cuts on my hands and forehead, but it could have been a lot worse. 

Much as I would have liked to help the screaming pedestrians, I knew that I had to deal with the greater threat, which was whoever had blown a magical fuse big enough to shatter windows and, I realised as I got to my feet and started to head across the road, to have dented the roofs of every car in the street. 

Judging that whoever was going to be the first out of the building wouldn't be Sahra or Thomas I positioned myself to the side and launched myself at the person who came out. I may or may not have been pleased to see that it was Ralph Sheldon, who cursed as his elbows scraped against the pavement as we tumbled, me trying to get him into the handcuffs I'd already had ready, him trying to flee for his life. 

__“It wasn't me,” he was shouting, but at that point all I was interested in was sorting the immediate problem and figuring out the rest of it later._ _

“Peter!” I heard Sahra call out from behind me and just as I tried to turn my head someone grabbed me by the shirt and started to drag me away from Ralph Sheldon, nearly strangling me in the process. 

I tried to get a purchase between their fingers and my neck but the world was starting to go a little grey around the edges, until I heard Sahra shouting at my attacker and then extending her baton, using it to smack the person, hard, around the legs. 

They let me go and I fell forward on to my hands and knees. I turned to see that it was our friend with the tail and I grabbed the handcuffs that I'd dropped. 

__“Stay where you are,” I instructed Ralph Sheldon, who at this point was looking more than a little shell-shocked. He nodded and held out his hands, which isn't the usual response I get, but I was willing to take it. I dutifully told him he was under arrest and went to help Sahra who was struggling to keep cat woman under control._ _

__“What's your name?” Sahra was trying to ask, as the woman actually hissed and kicked out. I lent my assistance, grabbing the woman's arms while Sahra wrangled her into handcuffs._ _

__“Fuck you,” she said, which is a bit more like the normal response I'd expected and neither of us blinked as Sahra dutifully began to caution her, only for all three of us to be flung to the floor by another explosion of magic coming out of the college._ _

At this point not only did we have quite an audience from members of the public but uniforms and ambulances had turned up – UCH was close enough that they'd probably heard the explosion and come prepped for a major disaster. 

“What's going on here?” one of the uniforms asked, a PC I recognised from Soho who thankfully hadn't decided to taser first, ask questions later and seemed to recognise me after a tense beat where he'd been clearly trying to decide whether me or Sahra was the greater threat to the Queen's peace. 

__“We've got a Falcon situation,” I explained, hoping that would make sense. Given the fact that he physically recoiled a few steps, I was betting it did._ _

__“What do you need?”_ _

__Before I could answer the tailed woman, whose name we still didn't know, kicked Sahra in the face and pushed me off her with a strength that was definitely not human. Then with a smirk she lifted up her handcuffed hands high above her head and a silver slither of smoke curled around them and snapped them in half._ _

__The smoke had come from the doorway of the College and as I turned I saw Lesley May standing there face contorted in a way that didn't seem entirely normal, or comfortable._ _

__“Call for back-up!” Sahra shouted at the PC who jumped into action quick enough when he had a direct order to work with._ _

__I was still very much aware that Thomas had yet to make an appearance and now I could see that real, non-magical smoke, was pouring out through the broken windows._ _

__“Fire brigade's on its way,” the PC, whose name I finally remembered was Lewis Chambers, told me before I could ask._ _

__“The Nightingale's no match for our Master,” the woman told us and then ran off down the street._ _

“We need her in custody,” Sahra said, grabbing my arm to stop me going after her and nodding towards PC Chambers who shouted for help from a car load of our colleagues who'd just descended on the street. 

It looked like vaguely organised chaos as I spotted DS Stephanopoulos and DI Seawoll approaching at speed. 

“Peter, if we can get Lesley....” Sahra started to say only for the woman herself to start running in the direction of the Square. 

I heard, rather than saw Thomas shout something and then he and several of the college's students were pouring out of the building, choking on the smoke that billowed around them. Thomas looked unhurt and he nodded in my direction as he sought me out but then just as quickly sought out Lesley May. 

We both saw the problem at the same time. A small Chinese girl, nearly 7 years old as we'd discover later, with her hair in pigtails and wearing an Elsa party dress, came out of the Square just as Lesley May got there, calling out for her mother. 

Thomas was already moving, and I could hear the low thrum of his magic as Lesley reached for the little girl. I found myself moving too, gearing up for what I had to do next. 

Thomas and Abigail say that I get too distracted. And it's true, but it hasn't done me any harm so far. At this point I was thinking that this was unfolding very much like a duel, and that on roughly this same spot, in 1694, the Scottish economist John Law fatally stabbed Edward “Beau” Wilson with his sword in a duel that would see Law convicted of murder, sentenced to death, and end up as the second most powerful man in France after Louis XV's regent, the Duke of Orleans. 

__It was considering the efficacy of duelling as a form of crowd control that lead me to trip over my own feet and dodge the fireball that Lesley May threw rather haphazardly at me. Her distraction though gave Thomas time to finish his spell, which turned out to be twisting the railings that lined the square so they formed a protective cocoon around the little girl, keeping her out of reach of Lesley who called Thomas a name I didn't hear before reaching again for the fireball trick._ _

__Thomas was prepared for that though, I could tell, and Lesley May was ignoring me as Thomas tried to get her to come in peacefully before she got hurt. She laughed in his face and I decided it was now or never, and hit her with the strongest _Impello_ I was capable of. _ _

__I'm not sure who was more shocked, Thomas or Lesley. I'd like to think that it was Lesley, given her surprised screech as she fell to the floor, hitting her head on the pavement, but I actually think it was Thomas. He was looking at me like he'd never seen me before and while I wanted him to have known, always known, deep down that of course I'd been learning magic alongside Abigail, of course I'd been practising in secret and of course I'd been reading the books she'd been reading, and of course I'd been learning the languages she'd been learning, I realised that no, he'd had no idea._ _

__I would have said something, only Lesley suddenly burst into flames and we were a little distracted._ _

__I started taking off my jacket and I could hear the fire brigade who were dealing with the building behind us shouting instructions and then Thomas created a whirlpool over Lesley's head and drenched her in cold water._ _

__“And that,” he said, “is why we never do magic with a head injury.”_ _

__Lesley scowled in his direction but shut up when Seawoll came along and personally handcuffed her. I think it was his look of disappointment alone that stopped her from struggling too much._ _

__“Is this going to keep her secure?” Seawoll asked Thomas, who shook his head._ _

__“An armoured car might be more helpful.”_ _

__“Right. I'll just rustle one of those up,” Seawoll muttered but then went off to do just that, leaving Thomas and Stephanopoulos in charge of Lesley May._ _

“Sir,” I said, to get Thomas' attention, “are you hurt?” 

__I could see now that I was closer that he had some scratch marks on his face and the cuffs on his shirt were bloodied. He looked down and frowned._ _

__“Not mine,” he explained. “Another casualty of Lesley May's complete lack of training.”_ _

__“And how much training has Peter had?” Lesley asked. “How many of your precious agreements has he just violated?”_ _

__“The agreements are between the Folly and interested parties,” Thomas replied. “You and your puppet master are neither.”_ _

__If Lesley May had anything to say to that it was cut off by the little girl's mother looking for her daughter, and Thomas and Sahra peeled off to deal with her while I stayed near Lesley, who was resembling a drowned rat more and more._ _

__“Let's get her a blanket,” Stephanopoulos said to a passing fireman and one was shortly provided. Lesley didn't move as it was placed around her shoulders._ _

__Stephanopoulos made sure that Lesley was aware that she was under arrest and strongly suggested she keep her mouth shut. Lesley didn't seem inclined to disagree._ _

__“Do you think we'll be able to keep her secure with the Faceless Man running around looking for her?” Stephanopoulos asked me._ _

I was looking at Lesley, noting the way her eyes were darting around, scanning the crowd; after all, she was the only one of us who knew what the Faceless Man looked like. 

“We've still the woman with the tail to worry about too,” I pointed out. 

“Cassandra,” Lesley supplied. “Her name is Cassandra.” 

__“We've got a description out on Cassandra,” Stephanopoulos said. “She's a friend?”_ _

__Lesley just rolled her eyes._ _

__“All this just to get your hands on a book?” I asked. Lesley ignored me. “Was it your idea to attack Inspector Nightingale, or the Faceless Man?”_ _

“ _Peter,_ ” Stephanopoulos warned me, even as Lesley was blinking up at me with a smirk on her face. 

__“This was Lesley's plan, wasn't it?” I said to Stephanopoulos “not her boss's. Get him a new book for his collection and get Inspector Nightingale out of the way. A nice little present for him.”_ _

__Lesley shifted a little and I could see I'd hit my target._ _

__“What do you think you owe him?” I asked. “We can help.”_ _

“ _Peter,_ ” Stephanopoulos interrupted. “I'm not telling you again.” 

__“What do you owe your nightingale?” Lesley asked me, the last thing she said to anyone before one of Thomas' associates, Frank Caffrey, bundled her into a secure car with some men that DI Seawoll pursed his lips at but didn't question._ _

__The plan was to take her to HM Prison Bronzefield outside Ashford in Surrey, the largest female prison in Europe. While I'd been talking to Lesley, and after he'd finished releasing the little girl to her mother Thomas had been arranging her transfer and a contact from the old days he said would be able to keep a temporary eye on her - “her magic has some powerful elements to it, but it's disordered and undisciplined. She can do damage certainly, but there's no focus”._ _

__As it would turn out though, the Faceless Man's magic was both powerful and focused and Lesley May didn't spend very long in custody._ _

__We were more focused on the clean-up immediately after Lesley was taken away and I was thankful for the moment that there were other people to take charge of the mess and I just had to follow orders._ _

“What do you think his role in all this was?” I asked Sahra, as we watched Ralph Sheldon being placed in to the back of a car. 

“He claimed Cassandra was his girlfriend,” Sahra said. “The Inspector and I managed to get the fact that there were incriminating photos out of him, so the blackmail angle looks accurate and then, well, Lesley May turned up and it all went to hell.” 

“She never used to have that effect, quite the opposite.” 

“There's no place for someone like that in the force, Peter,” Sahra said. “We're better off without her. And so are you. She's not your friend. She was never your friend.” 

I nodded. But knowing something and feeling something are never as easy as you might want. And if my eyes kept drifting towards Thomas as he and Seawoll coordinated their next move, well, I'm only human. 

__* * * * *_ _

__Since the Jag was still temporarily out of action Sahra drove Thomas and I back to the Folly. There was nothing more that we could do at the scene, Seawoll had taken overall control of the investigation and Lesley May was as secure as she was apparently going to get._ _

Abigail and Molly were waiting for us and Abigail started throwing questions in Thomas' direction before we'd even finished getting out of the car. 

“Abigail,” he said, “I'm fine. Peter's fine. Now why don't you help Molly with the tea things and we'll be in in a moment.” 

__Abigail stared at him for a beat, ran forward, gave him a quick hug, and then vanished off inside. Thomas looked a little dazed before turning to face me and pulling me into my own hug._ _

__“On a scale of one to ten,” I asked, voice somewhat muffled by Thomas' soft jacket, “exactly how mad at me are you?”_ _

__Thomas moved back a little and seemed to almost reluctantly take his arms away from me. At least it felt reluctant._ _

__“Peter....” He stopped, sighed and then looked off into the distance. “I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself, if anything.”_ _

__“I thought you knew I'd been learning magic,” I said._ _

__Thomas finally turned to look at me. “I supposed you were learning about the forms and the history alongside Abigail. I hadn't realised you'd taken to practical demonstrations.”_ _

__“I didn't meant to.” I caught Thomas' look. “Really. I just wanted to see what it would be like and then when Abigail managed it and I knew it was real....I only ever practised a few times, I promise. Just to see if I could get the basics right. I was doing the research alongside Abigail to start with, sitting in on all her lessons. I wouldn't ever have used it on a case, not without you supervising. I just couldn't let Lesley May hurt you, not again. I'm sorry.”_ _

__“I'm almost disappointed I don't get to see you trying to explain why you're so proficient at your first lesson.”_ _

__I started to smile and then stopped to consider exactly what I would have said. “I don't think I'd really thought about that.”_ _

__“Oh, Peter,” said Thomas. He was smiling as he said it but there was a sadness around his eyes that was making me nervous._ _

__“Thomas?”_ _

__“If I'd met you first, before Abigail, I wouldn't have hesitated to make you my apprentice. And as it was, when Abigail introduced us I knew you were the kind of person the Folly needed. And then when you started helping me navigate the Rivers and showed me that I could be part of the modern world, I was selfishly glad that you couldn't be my apprentice. Because then we'd have missed out on this.”_ _

__I didn't have anything to say to that. I'd known what I was doing, mostly._ _

__“Of course I should have realised at Mama Thames house,” Thomas continued. I frowned at him, confused. “I thought Brent was talking about me when she mentioned that funny smell, but of course she meant you. Even Mama Thames referred to you as a wizard, and I didn't give it a second thought.”_ _

__He looked up as a yellow mini squeezed itself through the gates and parked just next to us and Beverley Brook stepped out._ _

__“We heard Peter did magic,” she said. “Mum's got some questions.”_ _

__“I see...” Thomas replied. “Well...”_ _

__“Like what do you need us to say to get the Commissioner off your back?”_ _

__Thomas looked faintly startled. “I'm sorry, she wants to know what?”_ _

__Beverley grinned. “Mum's come around to the idea of better cooperation with the Folly quicker than I thought she would. She's got your backs, if you need it.” Beverley kicked nervously at the ground. “Me too. If you need it.”_ _

__I don't think I've ever seen Thomas this speechless before and if I'd thought I could have got away with it, I might have taken a photo._ _

__“Will we be in much trouble?” I asked Thomas._ _

__“I, um, no. Probably not. If, interested parties are in agreement. I imagine Lesley May's latest stunt has driven it home just how important it is to have more than one police officer capable of magic. I appreciate Mama Thames' kind offer of support, however.”_ _

__Beverley nodded and was just about to get back into the car when Thomas moved forward._ _

__“Perhaps you'd care to have tea with us? We could take it in the coach house.”_ _

__Beverley looked between me and Thomas and then nodded. “All right. But you two need to make up before you come in.”_ _

__“We're not broken,” Thomas said straight away, and I probably made some sort of sound because Thomas was turning to look at me just as Beverley pushed something into my hand as she passed and went into the kitchen to tell Molly what the new plan was._ _

__“We're not?” I asked._ _

__“I don't want us to be....Do you?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__“Then what on earth are we...”_ _

__I cut Thomas off using my favourite method, kissing him and pressing him onto the nearest hard surface, which in this case proved to be Beverley's car. We stopped after a few minutes of Beverley's wolf-whistles and I chanced a glance at the piece of paper Beverley had pushed into my hand. If I was reading it right, it was where I could find the stall holder who'd started the ball rolling with his book._ _

__“It's not going to be easy. Having this, and being your teacher.”_ _

__“We'll work it out,” I said. “No more omissions. I promise.”_ _

__“Well, on that account there is something I should tell you first. You and Abigail. I rather think it relates to the book Lesley May was so eager to get her hands on, and perhaps the Faceless Man's greater scheme.”_ _

__“You think you know what he's after?”_ _

__“I suspect it has to do with the Folly's third library.”_ _

__I wanted to ask more questions there and then but agreed to wait until later, when Beverley had gone home. And then, sat together in the study with mugs of hot chocolate to keep us warm Thomas told Abigail and me about what really happened at Ettersberg, warts and all._ _

__It didn't change a thing._ _


End file.
